Eschaton
by MarthaJones11
Summary: Neither spoke as the first beams of sunlight worked their way across the great plain, golden rays forcing back the rich purples of the dying dawn. For morning had come; morning and oncoming shadows of the gathering dusk.
1. Invocation

I met a traveller from an antique land  
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone  
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,  
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown  
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command  
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read  
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,  
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.  
And on the pedestal these words appear:  
'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings.  
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'  
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay  
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,  
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

_Ozymandias_, Percy Bysshe Shelley


	2. Galadriel's Benediction

The winding staircases of Lothlorien brought her ever nearer to her destination, ever closer to the shining pavilion that gleamed underneath the woodland stars. Though the night was dark, her footsteps were quick and true, leading her past guards and sentries until she reached the base of the grand staircase that rose to meet her parents' ruling seat. After kneeling quickly in a needless display of respect, she rose and darted up the final flight of stairs before coming to rest at several feet from her intended destination. Pausing outside the barred door of their private chambers, she caught muttered words of impassioned conversation. Her father's voice, slightly agitated, came through first.

"And you are certain that this is the intended path?"

Her mother's words, slow and measured, followed in kind.

"I have foreseen it. It is the way."

There was a sigh, followed by the shuffling of feet and the rustling of parchment. Then a voice sounded that she did not recognize. It was deep and rumbled through the doorway. It held none of the light and prophecy that oft accompanied her parent's speech. Rather, it was dark, cavernous like the far reaches of the abysmal forests, and was tinged with arrogance.

"Your visions have been wrong before. The darkness corrupts all – even you, Lady Galadriel."

"Measure your words wisely, Elvenking," her father snapped, putting feigned emphasis on the title. "You forget yourself."

A soft chuckle came from the deep voice, from this Elvenking.

"Tell me, Lord Celeborn," he responded, "Could you forget the most important elf in your kingdom? How much more could I forget myself?"

"Much as your conversation enthralls me," her mother broke in, her voice cool and clear and refreshing as a mountain stream amidst the bickering speech of the two men, "I do believe we have company."

Her breath hitched in her throat as she moved to back away from the door, but to no avail. The heavy entry swung open, and she found herself looking into the blazing eyes of her father. Never before had she seen him so angry. The calm of Lord Celeborn was legendary – it nearly rivaled the composure of his Lady wife. She wondered at what would demand such passion from him.

"Erulastiel. Join us please, good daughter," came his voice, stiff with the effort of maintaining his cool façade.

She did not need further instruction. Sweeping into the room, she found a spot standing against the wall, mere steps from her mother. Across the room, leaning lazily from a chair and resting against the grand table, sat the third voice Erulastiel had heard from outside the room – the voice of this Elvenking.

"How do you fare, Erulastiel?" came her mother's voice.

Erulastiel turned, hoping to find answers in Galadriel's eyes. She found them guarded as usual. Her resolve heightening, she decided to observe the courtesies – for the time being.

"I fare well, mother," she responded. "The borders remain guarded and strong. None passed during my watch. I left the precinct in Haldir's most capable hands the moment I received your summons."

She would have continued, but her words were cut short by a soft laugh in the corner, coming from the Elvenking's mouth.

"Does something amuse you, King Thranduil?" her father asked, now seated across from their guest.

Thranduil. Erulastiel knew that name. She had learned it long ago in her studies, had heard it whispered through the halls of Lothlorien. Thranduil, the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm. Thranduil, the elf who holed up his kingdom in great, dark caverns where the starlight barely reached. Thranduil, whose love of riches and all things corporeal proved him lesser among the elven rulers. What was this so-called King doing in their halls?

"I simply would not expect the daughter of the great Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel to be stationed as a common sentry," came the reply from Thranduil, his voice tinged with amusement.

Her Lord father seethed from across the room. Galadriel noticed his reaction as well, and maintained composure in her response.

"Do you have children, King Thranduil?" she asked calmly.

Thranduil smirked at her, gazing evenly at her mother over the brim of a golden goblet. He raised it slightly in Erulastiel's direction, then tipped it back and downed its contents in a single swallow. Tossing it to the table, he allowed it to roll and clatter onto the floor before answering the question.

"I had thought that this meeting would solve that slight inconvenience," he responded evenly, his eyes shifting from Galadriel to Erulastiel in one smooth movement.

An uneasy silence filled the room. Erulastiel's eyes darted around, desparately trying to make contact with Galadriel's eyes, but she had turned from her daughter and now stood at the balcony of their small council chamber. She again tried to meet her father's eyes, and momentarily succeeded before he dropped them to some parchment upon the table. Warily, as a final resort, she turned her gaze on Thranduil. He did not disappoint.

Waves of emotion ran over her. Triumph and immense sorrow, death and pain – so much pain, she felt it coursing through her veins – regret and shame and misery, flashes of imagined, shallow joy amidst the hurt, then nothing as his eyes closed and turned away from her. Breathing heavily, Erulastiel grabbed for the back of the nearest chair, missing her mark through the lingering pain. She started to fall to the stone surface, but strong arms halted her decent. She had no need to look to their owner – Thranduil's chair was now empty, his hands grasping her arms and preventing her fall.

"Thank you, King Thranduil," she muttered, embarrassed at her clumsiness. She was a great archer and protector of Lothlorien, not some common ranger.

Thranduil said nothing, only returned to his seat and stared at her curiously. After several moments of silence, he spoke first.

"You have the gift," he said simply. Standing and pacing the room, he stopped to look intently at Celeborn and Galadriel. "I was not informed of this."

"What does it matter? It changes nothing," Celeborn responded, his previous anger seemingly under some control.

"It changes everything!" Thranduil hissed, his previous cool façade gone, his words seething under the threat of thinly veiled violence. "Do you mean for her to be your little spy? To report on the movements and motivations of my kingdom?"

Galadriel had turned away from the balcony at the sound of the argument. She moved silently to her daughter's side, brushing against her shoulder with a calming hand. As the two men fought, Erulastiel looked up and into her mother's deep eyes, eyes that were momentarily and purposefully unguarded. Several moments passed. Erulastiel lowered her eyes and looked sadly toward her father, who felt her gaze and turned away from Thranduil. Silence passed for many moments.

"You mean to join our kingdoms," she said finally, her voice soft, full of pain and betrayal. "You mean to wed me to this, this false king of Mirkwood. I will spend my days a figurehead, a distraction, a member of some false court, away from the trees I call home and far from the freedom you have taught me to love."

She closed her eyes, fighting the tears that promised to flow forth. They snapped open as Thranduil spoke.

"Perhaps you should learn some respect, little one," he seethed, clenching tight hands behind his back in a feeble effort to contain his anger. "Or you will see just how unworthy a king I can be."

Celeborn gasped and moved away from the table, making slow steps toward the Elvenking who threatened his daughter. Galadriel sighed deeply and cut off her husband's movement with measured words.

"Enough, all of you. Tonight, we shall retire, for the hour grows late and the skies grow dark. Tomorrow, Erulastiel will accompany Thranduil to the Woodland Realm for a single moon to allow for marriage preparation."

Three voices began to rise in protest. Galadriel silenced them all with a raised hand and a piercing stare.

"All has not yet been revealed, not even to me. But this marriage is of great necessity, although it pains all affected," she finished wearily, glancing at her daughter and husband in turn. She turned to Thranduil. "King Thranduil, I would be most grateful if you escorted Erulastiel to her chambers."

"I need no escort."

"She has guards for that purpose."

Erulastiel and Thranduil's voices sounded simultaneously, both balking at Galadriel's request. But this was Lady Galadriel, and both knew how their protests would end.

Moments later, Thranduil was guiding Erulastiel from the small council chamber; his arm and hand wrapped around hers. They glided past sentries posted along the staircase and walked through throngs of elves gathered to catch a glimpse of the Elvenking. Erulastiel kept a smile on her face for the sake of her people.

They could not know that Thranduil's grip grew ever tighter around her wrist.


	3. A Confrontation

Thranduil threw open the carved door to Erulastiel's chambers and released her roughly inside, slamming the wooden entryway behind him as he stalked into the room. Erulastiel stumbled slightly, taken aback by his action, then regained composure. She glanced down at her wrist and rubbed it absentmindedly. He had gripped so tightly that she'd doubtless have a bruise come morning – one she would most certainly attempt to hide from her parents.

"Where do you keep your wine?" came Thranduil's rumbling voice as he searched her chambers for some vintage.

Erulastiel now studied the Elvenking more closely. He was tall, taller than her father and Lord Elrond, to be sure. Golden-white hair, shimmering like her mother's locks, flowed softly down his shoulders and back, held away from his pale face by a polished crown of branches and red berries. His clothes were stately, shimmering with gems and jewels; very much unlike the practical robes she had seen other ruling elves wear. Everything about Thranduil seemed disturbing to Erulastiel – his love of earthly pleasures, his arrogant manner of speech and step, his need for complete control – and his temper, she thought, grimacing as she continued to rub her sore wrist.

"Did you not hear me, little one, or are you simply choosing to be so impertinent in an attempt to force me from your chambers so you might remove those unseemly clothes you choose to wear?" Thranduil's voice broke through her thoughts.

Erulastiel sighed to herself. She knew what she looked like in comparison to the great Elvenking's splendor. Her hair, golden like her mothers yet matted with dirt and tangles from her ranging, was pulled back sharply from her face and dotted with messy braids. Her face itself was tanned and stained from days in the sunlight, and her hands calloused from use of bow and arrow in defense of her kingdom. Her clothing doubtless displeased Thranduil – she wore the high boots, leather pants and heavy tunics and cloaks of the guardian elves at their borders, not the fine silks and jewels that bedecked other elven women of noble birth.

It was in that moment that Erulastiel knew that Thranduil should be marrying another, and she would do all her power to make that happen. She turned to him and tilted her head slightly, providing him with a soft smile that did not reach her annoyed eyes.

"I keep no wine in my chambers, King Thranduil," she responded, "I choose to refrain from the drink."

Thranduil's eyes widened, his thick eyebrows shot into his forehead. For a moment, he stood staring incredulously at her. Then a laugh escaped his lips.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to address that once you enter my kingdom," he said, smiling to himself as though enjoying a private joke. "You are aware that the vineyards of the Woodland Realm provide the best wines of the land?"

Erulastiel shrugged.

"I have heard, yes," she retorted. "But if your kingdom's claim to power lies in your production of a mere drink, what does that say of the integrity of your lands?"

Thranduil's smile dropped, his eyes became hard and guarded. At last abandoning his futile search for wine, he clasped long fingers behind his back – a gesture, Erulastiel understood, he made when attempting to control his anger – and began circling her as a predator encloses its prey. His eyes bore into her as his circles became ever tighter, and Erulastiel at last flinched away from his gaze as he rounded tightly behind her back, coming to rest in front of her face. She held his intense gaze for as long as possible before dropping her eyes to the floor of her chambers. Keeping her eyes on her scuffed boots, she prayed that Thranduil would leave, prayed even for a respite from his presence until the morning. Cold fingers underneath her chin meant her prayers had gone unanswered. She allowed them to guide her eyes to the Elvenking's face once more. It was unreadable. She gazed into his eyes, attempting to read some information, but found them barred against her stare. Fingers tightened painfully on her jaw.

"You will cease the use of that gift once we enter my kingdom," Thranduil said harshly. "Is that understood?"

Her eyes furrowed at his command. So this was to be their marriage – he, a demanding and controlling tyrant with no moral code or connection to the spirituality and lives of the elves of Lothlorien, she, a free spirit who refused to be tamed by his demands. One of them would break eventually, and it would not be her.

"I am to be your wife, not your slave, not your child, not your ward," Erulastiel responded, keeping her voice even despite her discomfort. "We will rule equally, I will do as I please, so long as it brings to harm to our kingdoms."

Thranduil's fingers tightened even further briefly, then he released her face, pushing it aside as he did so. Erulastiel stepped back, breathing slightly ragged, gripping her jaw where the soreness still lingered.

"You will not continue this vendetta against my control," came Thranduil's voice, soft and dangerous.

Erulastiel already understood that voice to be the most threatening of Thranduil's speech, but she refused to back away. Her life would not be relinquished so swiftly.

"Pray tell, why will I cease my actions? Why should I willingly relinquish my freedoms?" she responded.

Thranduil gazed at her, his eyes a mixture of emotions that she could read only slightly, as his guard had dropped during their confrontation. Pain, again, overwhelming pain, was the only emotion to reach her mind. It vanished as the Elvenking turned from her, ignoring her previous question and reaching for the handle of her door. He said nothing as he lifted the latch and exited, his grand robes sweeping behind him before the door again slammed harshly closed.

Erulastiel let out a harsh breath, one she had been holding as Thranduil slowly left her chambers. She took several moments to regain control, and then found her bed and threw herself upon its surface. She did not even bother to remove her leather pants and ranging tunic, she could not muster the strength to pull the harsh braids from her hair, before falling into a deep and restless slumber, her dreams haunted by deep eyes filled with pain.


	4. Departure

"But you won't be accompanying me to Mirkwood?"

Erulastiel's voice was sharp, sharper than she wished when addressing her dearest handmaiden, Istimiel. The elf was slightly older than Erulastiel, but held on to the youthful nature that enhanced their relationship. When Erulastiel was born, Istimiel had been bound to her service as handmaiden and teacher, instructing the princess in ways of courtly responsibility and feminine manners. Despite the lessons never taking hold, the two remained near inseparable when Erulastiel slept in her chambers at Lothlorien, and was away from ranging at the borders.

"My lady, King Thranduil insists that two riders – you and his Kingship – will travel faster without handmaidens and attendants," Istimiel said. "He has even turned down the honor guard your parents offered."

Erulastiel's eyes narrowed, her mind raced through thoughts of their conversation the previous night. This wasn't about expediency, she realized. This was Thranduil playing the game – he wanted control, and assumed isolating her from her past at Lothlorien in every way would expedite that process. Little did he know, she thought, that she wouldn't give in so easily. Smiling to ease Istimiel's concerned stare, she returned to the task at hand: packing for life in the Woodland Realm.

"Hasn't King Thranduil offered to have new garments fitted once you reach his land?" Istimiel asked.

"Oh yes," Erulastiel responded, her voice dripping with disdain. "And what will he ensure is sewn? Dresses and gowns, no doubt. I will not surrender my way of life to boost his ego."

Istimiel's eyebrows raised, but she said nothing against Erulastiel's harsh words.

"Very well, my lady. Best to make haste. King Thranduil expects to leave within the morn."

Erulastiel snorted, a very unladylike action that earned her a disapproving stare from Istimiel. She took no heed.

"King Thranduil will leave when I am ready, and no sooner," she responded. "Now, help me finish so I may dress and leave with my dashing future husband."

The packing was completed within the hour. Istimiel aided Erulastiel in choosing clothing for the long road ahead, one that would take them through the forest, then across vast plains, then through the deep and treacherous woods of Mirkwood. They finally decided upon stiff leather boots and tough leggings that would protect her feet and legs whether riding or walking, and a long tunic with vest and cloak to outfit her body. Her hair was drawn back with tight braids to keep her eyes free for the journey, and Istimiel tied a leather band about her forehead to ensure the tendrils stayed put.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," Erulastiel called, finishing gathering her weapons for the journey. She would not find herself in the wilderness without her bow and arrow, nor without her blade, with which she found herself adequate, but not properly skilled. Still, it would not hurt to have its protection close at hand.

Lady Galadriel glided into her chambers, hair shining like burnished gold, eyes glistening with prophecy. Istimiel bowed deeply, waiting for Galadriel's soft nod before rising and continuing to ready Erulastiel.

"How fare you, my daughter?" she asked calmly, encircling the room while inspecting Erulastiel's choice in clothing.

"Well, mother," Erulastiel responded, absentmindedly pulling a sleeve of her tunic over the bruises Thranduil had graced her wrist with.

Her mother noticed her small movement, but said nothing. Doubtless, she already knew of their argument. Her mother's silence was a blessing for Erulastiel, and she gave silent thanks that she would not be forced to contend with her parents today. Unhappy as she was with Galadriel and Celeborn, she did not wish for her last day in Lothlorien to be marred by memories of bickering – one month seemed like eons.

"I have come bearing a gift," Galadriel said, her liquid voice breaking Erulastiel away from her thoughts.

From a satchel over her shoulder, Galadriel drew a shimming platinum tunic, silvery-white in color and dancing with the brightness of the stars. Erulastiel felt drawn to its fabric. She ran her hands over it, feeling its lightness and softness. Her eyes met her mother's – which betrayed nothing, as usual.

"Mithril?" she asked, her voice wondrous.

Galadriel nodded.

"You embark on a dangerous journey, daughter," she said. "You face threats from many sides. May this tunic guard you from foes both far and near, and protect you from all harm."

Erulastiel bowed deeply, then removed her outer garments to ensure the mithril found its way against her skin. Cool and light, it was unnoticeable underneath her clothing. Her mother smiled and nodded to Istimiel, who had finished gathering Erulastiel's belongings.

"Shall we find King Thranduil?" she asked, her lips turning upward in a slight smile.

Erulastiel nodded, swallowed hard, then turned her back away from her chambers and ventured out to meet her future husband. She did not look back.

* * *

"What delays them that I must linger here?" Thranduil's deep voice rumbled, his impatience blunt as he stalked the floor of the small council chamber. "We should have made for the forest hours ago."

Celeborn gazed evenly at the Elvenking.

"Patience, dear Thranduil," he said evenly. "You mean to take my daughter away for a lifetime. Surely a few more hours in her homeland will not gravely impair your journey."

Thranduil turned to mutter an insult against the Lord of Lothlorien, but stopped as the door to the chambers was roughly forced open. His eyes first found the Lady Galadriel as she floated effortlessly into the room, and then fell upon the small figure behind her – Erulastiel. When she saw him standing against the wall, she allowed for a small, smug bow before turning to her father.

"I am ready," she said firmly, her voice projecting more courage and strength than she truly felt.

Lord Celeborn's eyes glazed slightly, but they hardened as he rose and embraced his daughter.

"Yes, you are," he said softly. He released her and cupped her face in his hands, gazing into her eyes before stepping away. "Your future husband awaits rather impatiently. Best you found your way before the morrow falls."

Erulastiel smiled then turned to Thranduil. His eyes swept over her clothing and narrowed in disdain – she would have sworn a soft sight of disapproval escaped his lips, but he remained silent. Together, the party turned from the chambers and found the two horses waiting to carry Erulastiel and Thranduil to Mirkwood.

Erulastiel stepped forward to her horse – but it was not hers. Her horse, her companion through many dangers, was silver as the nighttime stars, with a mane that cut a streak of black through his hair. This horse was dark as the night sky without starlight. She turned to face her parents.

"Where is Gilroch?" she asked.

The voice that responded was deep and annoyed.

"I thought it best to travel with fresh horses. Considering you rode your Gilroch leagues from the borders only yesterday, it was fitting that new mounts be provided," Thranduil stated from just behind her.

She could feel his breath on her neck as he continued, his voice somewhat softer and less arrogant.

"Daeroch knows the forest paths of Mirkwood like no other horse. You will be better suited on his back."

Erulastiel turned to face him, her eyes blazing with indignation. He only stared back with challenging gaze, daring her to start an argument now, as they prepared to leave her homeland. She quickly regained her composure and nodded.

"Very well," she said stiffly.

She turned to mount Daeroch, a horse black as the shadows. A slight movement from Thranduil caught her eye. The Elvenking bowed on one knee before her, his hands clasped together in an effort to aid her in mounting the great horse. She laughed slightly, and then easily hopped onto Daeroch's back. Thranduil rose slowly, looking at her curiously, before turning to his own horse, a stallion white and pure as the sunlight.

"I am not so small as you think, Elvenking," she called as he circled his horse around the small yard, preparing for their swift journey ahead.

"Oh, but you are, little one. You are so small, yet so powerful – but you cannot see," he responded, urging his horse away from the yard and forcing it into a gallop ahead of her.

Erulastiel turned to her parents for a final glance.

"I shall return within the month," she said, struggling to keep her voice from breaking.

Galadriel and Celeborn nodded, and her father gestured toward the white stallion galloping quickly away from them. Erulastiel bowed her head, and then urged her horse forward. She sped away from her parents and homeland, keeping her eyes locked on the white horse and golden rider riding at breakneck speed in front of her gaze. Her eyes clouded over. She did not look back.


	5. Starlit Dance

The only light that pierced the blackness of the night came from the flickering flames of their small fire. It was a moonless sky, Erulastiel noted, and she realized that, in precisely one month's time, she would be marrying her betrothed under the same star-speckled sky that now shone down upon them. She shivered involuntarily at the thought, inching closer to the flames, seeking out some feeling of warmth and protection in this exile, in this land far from home.

They had ridden hard for three days, and her and Thranduil now camped on the edge of the great forest of Thranduil's realm. Tomorrow, they would be in his lands. Erulastiel dreaded the thought. These few days spent riding had been easy enough; their brisk pace meant little chance to talk - or, in their case, to argue - and she had been left to her thoughts. Their evenings were spent in silent rest, meaning Thranduil had barely spoken to her nearly four days. Not that she was complaining, Erulastiel thought to herself. She found her own company much more agreeable than the Elvenking's harsh words.

He was reclining on the opposite side of their fire. His long, silver tunic glimmered against the firelight, and his discarded riding gauntlets lay carelessly tossed aside. Long arms crossed underneath his silver hair, which was held back with a knotted crown. Erulastiel stared harder. His eyes were gently closed, but if Thranduil's guard was down, she would still be able to glimpse parts of his consciousness - and luck appeared to be on her side. Waves of emotion ran through her, and she caught snatches of memory, of fire and of death. She gasped slightly from the pain, and Thranduil's eyes flew open. Within seconds, he had strode to her and yanked Erulastiel to her feet, blazing eyes glaring into her own.

"What did I command regarding that wretched gift?" he seethed, his hand reaching up and closing dangerously around her throat.

Erulastiel quickly calmed herself. She was a royal, a daughter of Galadriel, and she would not back down from Thranduil's constant challenges. In fact, she had rather been wondering when he would again speak to her. She smiled at him through the pain at her neck.

"You demanded that I cease use of the sight once we enter your kingdom," she responded evenly. "But if my navigational skills are correct, and they always are, we are merely at the borders of your kingdom, oh mighty King. It appears your commands are not applicable here."

The grip grew tighter as Thranduil's eyes blazed. Erulastiel became concerned. She intended to goad Thranduil, true, but she didn't expect that he would truly cause her harm. Just as she began to struggle against him, he suddenly released his grasp as she fell to her knees, heavily breathing in the crisp nighttime air. Erulastiel remained kneeling, attempting to regain control, as Thranduil's boots moved quickly out of her vision.

And then her sword was dropped at her knees. She looked up at Thranduil, questions in her eyes. He was again standing in front of her, suddenly the picture of calm and composure. In fact, he was smiling at her, but it was a cold, calculating smile that did not reach his eyes. His eyes declared victory.

"You've been waiting for a fight, haven't you?" he asked evenly. "Pick it up. Let us see what the daughter of Galadriel is truly made of."

Erulastiel's face burned. He was goading her. He was taking her attack mechanism and turning it against her. Every part of her wanted to turn away from Thranduil, to walk away from this fight, to allow him to claim this small victory. But her temper always did get the best of her, and in one smooth movement, she wrenched the unsheathed sword from the ground and leaped at the Elvenking. She caught him off guard, and he was barely able to draw his sword forth and parry her attack before she swung again, forcing all of her anger into the flashing blade.

They danced their first as a betrothed couple, their swords singing in the darkness and their hilts glinting against the dying firelight. The irony did not escape Erulastiel. She was one of the best fighters of her realm, but her true skill lay with the bow and arrow, and she felt herself growing tired. A sinking feeling of dread filled her as her blows grew weaker and Thranduil's remained powerful, quick and true. Suddenly, she had an idea. Taking a brief moment to center herself as Thranduil spun around her, she held her breath and looked deeply into his eyes.

He was taken off-guard by her invasion into his mind. She, too, was taken aback slightly by the pain she had expected, but continued to drive her opponent back toward the edge of the flames. Erulastiel allowed a small smirk to play upon her lips. She was winning.

Suddenly, a bright flash of light erupted over the tree line of the forest. It caught her eye for an instant, but it was just long enough for their connection to break, and for Thranduil to knock her blade from her hands. Within seconds, her back was pinned against his broad chest, her throat was exposed to his sword's sharp edge.

"Dead," he whispered into her ear, his voice sending a shiver up her spine.

"You cheated," she said forcefully, as she struggled against his left arm that firmly grasped her torso. He responded by broadening the blade's edge against her throat, forcing her head up and further immobilizing her against his body.

"You, too, used your gift, little one," he mused, "I simply responded in kind. Remember, you are not alone in your talents."

She refused to respond, letting the information of Thranduil's abilities sink in. He must have some control over the forest, she thought, something that allows him to connect with the trees and the land. She coughed against the pressure of the blade, and he loosened it slightly, but did not release his hold on her.

"You have some control over Mirkwood?" she asked.

He hissed a response.

"Do not use that foul name. My kingdom is of the Greenwood," he said quietly, his voice suddenly filled with something remembered from long ago.

Strong arms dropped aside and the blade was removed from her throat. Erulastiel turned around, but Thranduil's eyes were far away, gazing into the blackness that consumed the forest near their camp. She crouched to retrieve her sword, and then walked away from Thranduil as his eyes travelled far into the depths of the trees. Nothing more was to be gained or lost this evening, she realized. Settling back in front of the fire, she immersed herself in thoughts of home and freedom before drifting off into a restless sleep against the chilling of the night. At some point, she could have sworn she felt someone drape a blanket over her shivering body, but she was exhausted, and one can never draw a clear border between the dreamland and reality.


	6. Arrival

**Hi everyone! First of all, thank you ALL for the amazing response to this story! It started as a little chapter that I had to write, and its blossoming into this incredibly fun-to-write-plot! So whether you've reviewed or favorited or followed, thanks so much for your support.**

**A quick note - I'm planning on this story being a slow burn. These are two characters who hate each other, who come from completely different background and experiences. So don't expect tons of love all at once (I hope that's OK with you guys; personally I'd rather have a long, slow burn than fireworks and done). Erulastiel is a complex character, and her own motivations and flaws will slowly emerge as the story continues. **

**If you all have any advice, questions, requests, ideas, please feel free to comment! Again, thank you guys, and enjoy the next chapter.**

The hand on her shoulder jolted Erulastiel from her sleep, and she immediately sat upright, reaching for her sword and panicking when she found it missing. A grip on her shoulder grew firmer, and, shaking the dream from her head, she found Thranduil's eyes gazing intently at her, his eyebrows furrowed in question. Slowly, she remembered where she was. As the panic left, she found herself cold and sweating profusely, nauseated from the adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins. She tried to stand up, but found Thranduil's counterweight too forceful, and he remained crouching by her side as she breathed heavily and viewed him with narrowed eyes. Neither spoke as the first beams of sunlight worked their way across the great plain, their golden rays forcing back the rich purples of the dying dawn. Daylight was upon them, and Erulastiel knew they needed to quickly begin their journey into Mirkwood - Greenwood, she corrected herself - so that they would reach the heart of the Woodland Realm by dusk. Of course, that was impossible if Thranduil refused to let her stand.

"Is it your intention that we remain here all day?" she asked him. "Or will you let me rise so that we might reach your homeland by sundown?"

Thranduil tilted his head slightly. His eyes opened wider and his eyebrows shot into his forehead.

"I do not believe you are in any condition to travel."

Erulastiel opened her mouth to protest, but Thranduil continued over her voice.

"The darkness invades your dreams," he said firmly. "Do not deny it. I, too, have battled it, both waking and asleep. I understand the physical toll it takes on the body."

She fumed internally. She knew he was right - and that he had likely known of this beforehand. Their journey was only to take three nights, but somehow it had magically - or, more likely, by Thranduil's planning - stretched longer, and Erulastiel had run out of the sleeping herb that calmed the nightmares and drove back the darkness. She needed to visit a healer's stock immediately, but the nearest healers were in the Woodland Realm. Thranduil knew, she seethed. He was turning all of her weaknesses against her at once. The adrenaline, combined with her anger, overpowered her and she forcefully shoved the elvenking from her shoulders and stood to her full height.

"You know nothing," she said, her voice a dangerous whisper that mirrored his when his anger boiled.

Thranduil stood and faced her, stepping closer to close their gap as he spoke.

"Oh, but I do know," he responded, his voice soft and silky, but filled with malice. "I have heard you scream in the night, have heard your cries. You hide things, daughter of Galadriel. Do not think they can long remain hidden from me."

They were close enough to touch. Erulastiel closed her eyes, overcome by memory and darkness, and she took several seconds to compose herself before her eyes flew open and glared anew at Thranduil.

"My business is my own. We make for the Woodland Realm," she said firmly.

She turned and stalked away, making for her horse. Behind her, Thranduil stared, but eventually turned to ready his own mount for the journey ahead. Erulastiel did not care. She had already made up her mind. She would enter his kingdom and remain only long enough to find the sleeping herb she required, then she would escape and return to her family at the earliest possible opportunity. Her family - she smiled and lightly touched the mithril underneath her tunic. She longed to see her father's face, to hear her mother's soothing voice, to visit with her friends and to range again at the borders. The darkness could not touch her their. Her mother would help her to control the urges and to drive back the forces that lingered at the corners of her mind.

"Might we enter the Greenwood today, little one?" Thranduil's voice broke through her musings. He was already seated atop his horse and was pacing anxiously.

Erulastiel did not respond, but quickly finished preparing her horse. Mounting, she turned and nodded at Thranduil, not giving him the satisfaction of verbal response. He smirked slightly at her, but again spoke.

"Given your lack of skill with the blade, might I suggest keeping your bow at the ready? You will find there are fouler things in these lands than in your guarded home."

"Perhaps they spring from the character of their King." Erulastiel responded without thinking, but she rather prided herself on the ability to finally gain the upper hand in their sparring.

She expected a response from Thranduil, but his face remained blank. He merely turned his horse away from Erulastiel and urged him toward the forest's edge. She followed him at a slight distance, not wanting to travel too closely but still recognizing her disadvantage in foreign lands. And still the darkness from her dreams lingered; entering these wretched forests might only enhance the aftereffects of her dreams. Oh, the dreams, she thought darkly as they entered the twisting trees and dimmed road ahead. They plagued her. They taunted her with power, power so close she could reach out and grab it and become so strong and formidable that none in Middle Earth would dare oppose her. She would be loved and feared and rule all - and the darkness tempted her always, always remaining to drive her thoughts. It was why she had begged her parents to station her with the sentries. She had wanted to learn humility, to force herself into a humble position so that the thoughts of power would leave her mind. But ever since the battle, they always returned, creeping into her thoughts and now into her dreams.

"With what does it tempt you?"

Thranduil's voice startled her slightly. She looked around and noticed they were deep within the forest. Trees stretched far overhead as strange mosses padded their movements. She found herself feeling strange, almost as though she were floating through the trees. Thranduil's voice echoed again, and she vaguely recalled it tumbling through her mind as she attempted to regain control of her sense.

"Why do I feel so strange?" she responded, ignoring his question in favor of another. She was met with a deep laugh that conveyed no joy.

"My forest is deep and old, with thoughts and feelings and powers unto itself. The strangeness you feel is resulting from the very breath of the forest, a powerful substance that, to the unaccustomed mind, feels uncomfortable. Fear not, given several days you will gain immunity."

She felt herself nodding through a strange haze. Mirkwood, Greenwood, Woodland Realm, Thranduil, unworthy King, elves and darkness and power - all things were swirling together in her mind and she could not separate this strange realm from her reality. Some small part of Erulastiel warned her to bring back her guard, to replace the armor around her mind. But the forest was too strong, and Thranduil's demanding question about the temptress that was the darkness finally overwhelmed her.

"Power," she finally responded. "It tempts me with power."

Somewhere she felt Thranduil stop and turn to face her. His silver hair was shining with starlight through the dimness of the trees that surrounding their pathway and arched over their trail ahead. His eyes pierced her with knowing, and became a momentary constant in the dripping chaos that enveloped her mind.

"Strange," he said quietly. "Perhaps we are more alike than you fear, little one."

He again turned away from her and urged his horse forward. Erulastiel followed, vainly attempting to break away from the haze that enveloped her mind. Somewhere, she felt deer leaping through the forest and understood that the sun was sinking quickly as Thranduil quietly increased their pace through the darkening wood. She remembered a great bridge leading toward a shimmering door and recognized the faces of elves helping her to dismount from her horse. But the effect on her mind had grown too strong, and everything had blurred into a mirage of silver and golden hair, and through it all, she felt icy blue eyes pierce through her mind with a message: You are in my homeland, now, little one.


	7. Maerdes' Fall

Three days. It had been three days since she had last seen Thranduil, and Erulastiel could not have been happier. After they entered his kingdom, he had disappeared, leaving her to her own chambers and designs – likely knowing that the hallucinogenic properties of the forest would inhibit her wanderings for several days. She didn't care. She was exhausted from restless nights and from fighting the haze around her mind, and she slept for hours on end. In fact, her slumber had only been broken by a concerned elleth who had finally roused her from her deep sleep.

"My Lady?"

The light voice had broken through the haze. She slowly opened her eyes, and, to her surprise, immediately remembered where she was. Erulastiel smiled as the light of the dawn broke through crystal windows; the fog around her mind had lifted, and she could think clearly for the first in days. Propping herself up against layers of soft pillows, she allowed her gaze to wander around the room. Small, but ornately decorated, silver and blue lights danced about walls and floors of pure white birch as twisting limbs arched toward her ceiling. It felt, well it felt lighter and more airy than Erulastiel had expected. Truth be told, she wouldn't have been surprised to have awoken in Thranduil's dungeons, so anything to the contrary was a pleasant surprise. Finally, her eyes fell upon the handmaiden who had roused her from bottomless sleep. She was tall, lithe, with dark hair and eyes that spoke of youth, and she now viewed Erulastiel warily through these eyes. Attempting to calm the young elleth, Erulastiel smiled and offered some words of thanks.

"I am grateful that you have roused me. How long have I slept?" she asked, keeping her eyes trained on the elleth's face. "What is your name?"

She slowly walked toward Erulastiel's bedside, but remained standing, her arms neatly crossed behind her and her head slightly dipped in a gesture of deference. In her hands, she carried a small tray of bread, grapes, and a goblet of some beverage. Food, Erulastiel thought, and drink – she suddenly realized how hungry and thirsty she was. The handmaiden placed the tray on a bedside table and spoke.

"My name is Maerdes, my lady," she responded. "And you have slept for nearly three days and nights. I am under orders that you be woken."

Erulastiel's eyes narrowed. While she wanted to trust Maerdes, she could not be certain that Thranduil had not entrusted the handmaiden with some more sinister purpose. She had to be sure. She was in a strange land and embattled with a still stranger king, and Erulastiel knew she needed to protect herself – both from Thranduil and from the darker things that crept towards her mind's edges. Something about the elvenking had enhanced the struggle against the darkness as of late, and she would not sit idly by while her mind was overcome. Sighing, she opened her eyes wider and locked sight with Maerdes, offering silent apologies as she observed the maiden's purpose. Blurred visions of Thranduil came into view, and his ghostly voice echoed through Maerdes' memory:

"Does she sleep still?" he asked, keeping his back turned to Maerdes.

"She does, my lord."

Thranduil languidly turned around. While the vision was hazy from Maerdes' attempts to block her out, Erulastiel could see that the elvenking had recovered from their journey and now looked every inch the King of the Woodland Realm. His golden hair shone in the starlight and billowed down his stately shoulders. A robe of silver hung about his body, and rings and jewels bedecked his arms and hands. Atop his head, a crown of polished branches and berries added to his height and imposing nature. Erulastiel had never seen him look so commanding – or so frightening. Here, he was truly in his element, and she was a stranger in his homeland.

"Wake her. We have much to discuss."

Erulastiel saw Maerdes bow deeply before turning to exit.

"Wait."

The deep voice rang out behind the departing elleth. Maerdes turned slowly to face the elvenking, trepidation in her eyes. Erulastiel felt sorry for the handmaiden; she was likely bound in service to Thranduil's halls, and likely feared the elevenking more than she did.

"Yes, my lord?" she asked quietly.

Thranduil had turned again, his back faced Maerdes and his hands dancing over a small table of glass bottles. When he turned, his long, bejeweled fingers held a tiny vial of clear liquid. He approached Maerdes and handed her the bottle.

"Ensure that she drinks this. Provide her with food and water. Do not leave until she has consumed the entire beverage." The elvenking's eyes were harsh, his mouth straight and giving away nothing.

Erulastiel saw Maerdes cringe slightly before responding.

"Wouldn't she prefer wine, my lord? And what is in – "

"Enough!" Thranduil roared, his eyes blazing against Maerdes' questioning. "You are not here to discern my motives. Do as I have commanded."

The king turned and wandered toward his throne. Lazily climbing the stairs, he waved his hand as his eyes again flashed toward Maerdes with an air of danger glinting at the edges.

"You are dismissed."

Her vision swirled as Erulastiel withdrew from Maerdes' consciousness. The girl, completely exhausted and betrayed, collapsed to the ground. Fueled by remorse, but more powerfully by anger, Erulastiel sprung from the massive bed and helped the barely conscious handmaiden onto the pillows. She was so young, Erulastiel realized as she stroked the elleth's hair and attempted to calm her, so young and she had subjected the poor girl to the full power of her cursed gift. Erulastiel grew cold. The darkness was growing within her; every use of her power only increased its laughter, its whisperings. And as long as she remained in this wretched kingdom, she would only be forced to continue using it. She needed to escape, and soon. Standing quickly, Erulastiel searched the room to find her travelling satchels that she had packed at home. Finding fresh tunic and pants, she discarded her ragged clothes in favor of clean ones. She made sure the mithril still protected her body, and proceeded to attach her sword at the hip and her arrows at the back. Everything else, she left behind.

"Wait!" The weak voice sounded from the bed. Erulastiel, nearly out the door, reluctantly turned to face the young handmaiden.

"Yes?" she said, hoping to help Maerdes, but knowing that Thranduil would soon come looking for her if she didn't move quickly.

"The drink…" she responded weakly before going completely limp and passing out.

Erulastiel frowned. The girl was right. If, by horrible chance, she ran into Thranduil, he would likely expect her to have consumed the beverage – but she wasn't about to subject herself to that. Picking up the goblet, she swirled the contents and sniffed deeply. Nothing was given away. She swore quietly. It was time to guess – and knowing Thranduil, the vial had likely contained a truth serum. She would go with that. Dumping the contents of the goblet from the nearest window, Erulastiel finally turned from the chamber and silently crept into the hallway, attempting to calm her ragged breathing. She needed to screw her courage now, she thought. Now was her only chance of escaping this kingdom and returning to her homeland. She took one dying look toward the light of the dawn that streamed in through crystalline windows, and then she turned and fled on silent foot.


	8. Raining Arrows

**Apologies, friends! I've been really busy with finals and organizing a major fundraiser, but now I'm back and ready to rumble! And you're all in luck - I've got a surgery on the horizon, which means lots of recovery time and lots of writing time. I guess it's my Christmas gift to you all. Please enjoy this chapter and as always, thank you for the support!**

His halls were a maze, a cavern of wonders that she would have explored with joy under different circumstances. The mysterious and the sublime had always fascinated her, and now, as Erulastiel crept through the extensive depths and soaring heights of Thranduil's land, she gained a glimpse into his equally cavernous mind: impenetrable, able to be explored, but ultimately incomprehensible. It would take her years to navigate and to understand Thranduil's halls; so, too, with his thoughts. Erulastiel doubted that they soared into the heavens, glittering with starlight as did the tallest reaches of his palace, but then again, she never planned on exploring the elvenking's mind ever again. Her plan was determined: take the Old Road and pass through to Lord Elrond's dwelling at Imladris; there, she would pass the allotted time until her parents expected her at Lorien. She had often visited Lord Elrond's lands, delighting in their wonders as a child, and she had no doubts that he would welcome her.

"You there!"

The voice broke through Erulastiel's thoughts, and she spun quickly to face the speaker. An imposing, light-haired elf, most likely a guard from his armor and weapons, met her eyes. He walked slowly toward her, likely unsure of her identity - she cursed herself for dressing like a traveling vagabond in Thranduil's halls, where the finely-dressed women made her stick out. She cautiously backed away, aware that the steps behind her might lead to freedom - or into cavernous dungeons. Keeping her eyes trained on the guard's until the last second, she quickly delved into his mind, incapacitating him briefly, before issuing forth a rushed breath of prayer and darting down the steps.

"Alert the King! Seal the boarders!"

The guard's cries from behind her gave new life to her feet, and she rushed to meet the bottom of the staircase. A welcome sight greeted her eyes - stables of fresh horses, and beyond their stalls, a bridge into Mirkwood, into freedom. Erulastiel laughed to herself while quickly searching for a horse; days ago, she would have considered the forest itself a prison, but now, it was her road to independence.

A soft whinny issued from the corner. Erulastiel turned and walked toward the horse, her eyes widening as she gently approached the magnificent animal.

"Thinelroch," she breathed, gently stroking the horse's great mane. He was Thranduil's mount for their journey from her homeland into his, and she had bonded with the powerful horse during silent nights spent around the fire. Suddenly, shouts sounded from above and clamors of feet broke through. Erulastiel made a split second decision.

"Will you be my companion for this journey?" she whispered into Thinelroch's ear.

The horse remained silent, then brushed his head against her arm, bowing slightly to her. She nodded, tears pricking slightly at the corners of her eyes, and then loaded her necessary supplies onto his strong back. A lump formed in her throat as she realized her only friends in this Woodland Realm had once been Thranduil's allies - both Maerdes, and now Thinelroch, had turned on their previous masters to serve her. The thought made her cringe; was she any better than Thranduil, taking his friends and servants and using them against him?

But the time was not right for her musings. She mounted Thinelroch and guided him out of the stables. As soon as the great horse was freed from his stall, he broke into a gallop, his powerful steps carrying Erulastiel toward the bridge and across the great river into the relative freedom of the woods. They had nearly reached the bridge when a single arrow pierced through the sky and landed at the horse's feet. Thinelroch reared back, and Erulastiel pleaded and struggled to calm him while he turned to face the arrow's origin.

There, perched on a tall balcony that spun itself from gilded tree branches, stood Thranduil surrounded by several archers - all with their arrows aimed in her direction. Erulastiel shot daggers at the elvenking, who stood staring directly at her, with his arms spread and leaning on the balcony ledge. She could discern three things from his appearance: one, he had been roused from rest, as his hair was slightly disheveled and his sliver tunic, as seen in Maerdes's vision, was replaces with a deep red robe. Two, his eyes blazed with anger that surpassed anything Erulastiel had ever seen in his visage. And three, Erulastiel saw something else behind the fury that ignited his passion: fear. She swallowed hard and summoned her courage.

"I am leaving, King Thranduil," she shouted in his direction, squeezing her shaking legs around Thinelroch's powerful body to hide the terror that she felt.

His eyebrows shot into his forehead. She saw his fingers clench more tightly around the wooded balcony, his knuckles turning white at the grasp.

"I am afraid I cannot allow that, Lady Erulastiel," he responded, voice echoing through the trees.

"And I am afraid, my Lord, that you cannot stop me," she volleyed back, cringing at her response. She sounded like a child, and she knew that Thranduil had noticed.

He smiled slightly.

"You are mistaken, little one," he said, putting emphasis on the nickname he had bestowed upon her. "You are in my Kingdom now, have you forgotten? I decree that you, Lady Erulastiel, are not permitted to leave my boarders. Any act to the contrary will be considered treasonous, and it is within my rights to bring escaped traitors back into my lands."

Erulastiel's eyes narrowed. He was suggesting the use of force, indicating that, if she rode now, he would use everything and everyone in his power to bring her back - because of her so-called treason. She was ensnared in his grasp, she knew a trap when she found herself caught in one. But it was very likely that, if she willingly returned into Thranduil's hands now, she would never find another opportunity to escape. She quickly weighed her options: remain with the elvenking, who despised her, demanded her obedience, and had probably attempted to drug her, or attempt escape into Lord Elrond's lands, very likely risking pursuit by Thranduil and his guards. But she rode Thinelroch, she reminded herself, Thranduil's great and favored horse, who could likely navigate and outpace Thranduil's guards.

She raised her eyes and met Thranduil's gaze. She had made her decision. Without stopping to look again, she urged Thinelroch toward the bridge, shouting and forcing him into a hard gallop. They wouldn't have much time before Thranduil and his company reached her in pursuit.

"Now." Thranduil's voice echoed from behind her. She did not dare turn, but understood, with mounting horror, what he meant by the command when an elven arrow struck her shoulder, knocking the wind from her lungs. Erulastiel, in shock from his command to shoot, at first could not comprehend why the arrow did not pierce her skin. But then she remembered.

"Mithril," she breathed, and new life sprang forth in her spirit. "Faster, Thinelroch!" They were nearing the bridge, and within seconds could find themselves within the safety of the woods.

Suddenly, pain shot through her left thigh. Screaming in pain, she toppled from the sprinting horse and fell, rolling over in her speed, into the dirt. The searing pain was immense, ripping through her leg and stabbing fresh with every scream that issued from her lips. Erulastiel looked down, raising a shaking hand to her thigh, and could hardly believe her eyes - an elven arrow issued forth from her bleeding leg, its ornate surface contrasting with the blood and dirt that coated her clothes. She screamed anew, pain mingling with frustration and anger and tears, understanding that Thranduil would never let her escape this realm.

Darkness closed in at the corners of her eyes. She fought against it as three tall figures approached her, the first with silvery hair that echoed against the deep, blood red of his robes. As Thranduil reached her, Erulastiel struggled to stand, but only succeeded in sending fresh jolts of pain through her leg. She gritted her teeth, but could not prevent the muffled screams from issuing forth. Looking up and meeting Thranduil's eyes through hazy glare, she struggled to find her voice.

"You...you just couldn't...let me...go..." she forced out, her voice thick with pain and lingering darkness.

The elvenking crouched down to her. His eyes were filled with the same - anger and fear, but again with something new, with a deep sadness. A hand reached underneath her jaw and forced her hardened eyes to meet his own.

"No, little one, I cannot let you go," he said.

Everything collapsed inside of her. Erulastiel let everything go, and, wrenching her face away from Thranduil's grasp, succumbed to the darkness at the edges of her mind.


	9. Illumination

**What's that? A quick update? You're welcome, friends. You're welcome. Hoping you enjoy this chapter - for you Thranduil/OC shippers, I hope this one pleases your shipper hearts.**

"You cannot enter!"

The voice split through Erulastiel's throbbing head, rousing her from the deep sleep. Lazily opening her eyes, she found herself in a different bedroom than her last - though she could only see the ceiling from her immobilized position, the arching of magnificent branches and shimmering gems that bedecked their pale bark spoke of elegance far surpassing that of her previous quarters. She laid perfectly still, gazing into the starlight night that whispered through the trees. It reminded her of her home, Erulastiel realized suddenly, fighting tears that threatened to cloud her eyes and mar the beauty of the night, her home where glowing staircases of pure starlight wove around majestic trunks and wove their way upward into the nights. For the first time since leaving Lorien, she felt peaceful.

It was a short-lived serenity. More shouting issued from somewhere, muffled sounds reaching her ears.

"You forget yourself, Nestadon," Thranduil's voice oozed through the walls. "I am your king. Let me pass."

Erulastiel's stomach clenched. She could not face the elvenking now, not after his horrible actions, not after she was struck with an elven arrow upon his orders - speaking of which, she thought as she shifted her injured leg beneath the massive blankets, she seemed to be healing rather well. Perhaps her escape to Imladris would still be feasible; but right now she needed to focus on the conflict at hand. Simultaneously terrified and furious, she continued listening to the conversation, hoping this Nestadon would keep Thranduil at bay.

"I - I do recognize my disobedience, my king," responded Nestadon, his voice shaking with fear, "but she is in no condition to be receiving visitors, and I must insist - "

"Visitors?" Thranduil's question was full of deeper intent. "Am I an outsider within my own kingdom? We will speak no further, Nestadon. Step aside."

"You ordered her fired upon!" Nestadon had found his voice again. "Do you believe that she is in any mental state to receive you? Your very presence might bring on an attack of the darkness!"

Silence. Erulastiel realized that she had been straining to sit up on massive pillows in an attempt to understand their debate. As the voices ceased, she took the opportunity to gaze around the room, so ornately decorated that it nearly put her Lady mother and Lord father's best quarters to shame. Why had she been brought to this beautiful place - she, who had committed treason by Thranduil's own words?

"Do not presume to understand my motives, Nestadon. I will not ask you again. Step aside, or I will have you removed from your post."

Erulastiel knew that Thranduil would be entering her room. The elvenking was always obeyed - in person, at least, she thought, wondering with a sudden and deep sadness what had become of Maerdes and Thinelroch. They had risked disobeying the king to help her, and she hoped no harm had come to them. She would rather be pierced with a thousand elvish arrows than have harm come to those who had given her aid.

The door opened and Erulastiel closed off her thoughts. Thranduil quietly stepped in, locking the door behind him, and slowly walked toward her bedside. She was surprised at his appearance, so different from Maerdes's vision. His eyes were heavy and lined with exhaustion. No crown sat upon his golden head, and a massive silver cloak covered the deep red robes that he had worn upon her escape. Gently, he sat at the foot of her bed and gazed, unblinking, at her. Figuring she had nothing left to lose, Erulastiel looked deeply into his pained eyes, hoping to catch some glimpse of any deeper meaning. She was met with a fortified wall around his mind, and the elvenking shook his head and let a soft laugh escape his lips.

"Still fighting, little one. Do you remember what I told you the day we departed from your homeland? You are more powerful than you know," he smiled at her, a sad smile that did not reach his weary eyes.

Erulastiel did not understand. He had ordered her shot. He had attempted to drug her. He despised her gift and believed she represented an attack on his isolationist kingdom. Where did his sudden change in personality come from? She narrowed her eyes and launched an interrogation.

"Do you fear that my Lady mother knows of your actions, King Thranduil?" she asked, attempting to discern his motives. "Do you believe that treating me with kindness will change anything now?"

Thranduil stared at her, then rose swiftly and walked to the center of the massive room. He gazed up into the starlight and away from his kingdom, freed within the majesty of the night. With his back toward her, he ventured a return to her questions.

"Would you believe me, my Lady, if I confessed that my actions have sprung from desire to protect you?"

Erulastiel snorted, no longer attempting to act the gentlewoman. Istimiel would be displeased, she thought suddenly, but she had been dragged from her homeland and now lay injured. Now was not a time for manners.

"No, I would not," she responded.

Thranduil clasped his hands behind his back, but remained staring into the sky. She recognized his attempt to keep anger and emotion under control, and she waited for his next move. Slowly, he unclenched his hands and made his way to a small table that held a large decanter of wine. Pouring himself a goblet, the elvenking drank deeply and sighed heavily. Many moments passed before he spoke again.

"They are...selfish motives, I must admit," he said, beginning to pace the great length of the room. His silver cloak glittered beneath starlight as he slowly walked from shimmering wall and back. "A darkness lies at the edges of our world. It springs from the east, where foul things begin to take root. My kingdom will serve as the vanguard in the coming battles, and we will not prevail without aid."

He stopped pacing and turned his gaze upon Erulastiel. She held her breath as his powerful eyes, full of ice and blue and depths of his lands, moved closer again to her bedside as he walked her way with silent step. She knew the truth of his words. The darkness crept at the edges of Middle Earth as it lingered as the reaches of her mind, and both grew in power with each passing year. She waited for him to continue, and Thranduil waited until he had reached her side before speaking again.

"I know you have felt these things. Your...past battles...have left you scarred with the mark of the darkness," he said.

Lightly raising a hand and brushing aside her hair, Thranduil revealed the scar that ran from the base of her neck, down her left shoulder and onto her upper back. Erulastiel cringed and drew away from him. The scar was the source of the darkness that haunted her mind; it was a mark of evil an evil blade, evil so great that not even the greatest healers in Imladris had been able to remove it. The pale line etched itself permanently into her skin, and with it came the darkness that invaded her dreams. She had not realized that Thranduil had been informed of it. Unable to bring herself to look at Thranduil, she stared off into the distance, past the pale bark of shining trees.

"How did you learn of this?" she asked quietly.

"Your Lady mother revealed it to me years ago," he responded softly. "She had turned to me after Lord Elrond's healers had failed, hoping that my - experience - with dark scars would provide some medicine for her daughter." He laughed softly, a humorless laugh that held no light. "Clearly, she was mistaken."

Erulastiel turned back to him, her eyes full of question.

"You...you also carry a scar from the darkness?" she asked.

"I would not subject you to it now. Only know this, daughter of Galadriel: you are not alone in your battle against the great evil. We, we two stars thrown together in an impossible dance, share the common path. We are both fading lights amidst the blackness of the night. Your mother understood that only together would we stand any hope of defeating the darkness without and within."

Thranduil's eyes filled with passion. Erulastiel held her breath, amazed at the words that issued forth from his mouth. She still had so many questions, demands about his cold nature, about the vial in her drink, about the necessity of shooting an arrow into her leg, about his inability to tell her these things earlier. All of these thoughts weighed heavily upon her mind, a mind already succumbing again to the sleep of the injured. She attempted to speak, but all that came out was a poorly stifled yawn - a poor response to his poetic words. While Erulastiel still did not trust the elvenking, there was a sincerity to his story that attracted her interest, that connected her to his suffering. Thranduil noted her exhaustion and smiled.

"Rest now, little one," he said softly. "We will speak more on the morrow."

Something strange happened then. Erulastiel would attempt to explain it later, but it lacked all logic. As the elvenking gathered his great robes, his eyes again locked with hers, his deep blue gaze penetrating her thoughts. Starlight shone upon their faces, and everything and nothing happened as time suspended in that moment in the Woodland Realm. Slowly, the great King of the Greenwood lowered his shining head, and the daughter of Galadriel lifted hers, and their kiss met in a soft embrace that lasted within the flash of starlight.

And suddenly it was finished, and the elvenking stood quickly from her side. He nodded swiftly to her and left the quarters in a flourish of red and silver, and when everything was quiet and the starlight shone overhead, Erulastiel mused upon the taste of wine that had lingered on Thranduil's lips.


	10. Wariness

"Where am I?"

Thranduil lifted his eyebrows and smiled lightly at her. They were sitting on the great bed, still in the massive, shining quarters where Erulastiel had woken three days prior. She had wanted to leave the room, to explore the cavernous palace - and yes, she admitted to herself, perhaps find another route out of the kingdom. However, her healer, Nestadon, had insisted that she remain resting for at least a week, and so Erulastiel found herself in the company of books from Thranduil's great library, the occasional servant whom she convinced to stay and talk, and, today, the elvenking himself. He had entered the grand room silently, and Erulastiel had been so engrossed in her latest literature that she hadn't even realized his presence until he gently removed its pages from her hands.

She had been surprised - after their last interaction, Erulastiel wasn't entirely sure how to react to Thranduil. And that kiss, she thought, she had been ruminating on its meaning for the past few days, unable to make sense of its origin or ramifications. Time would tell, she assumed, and she decided upon a friendly but guarded approach to dealing with the elvenking.

He had placed the book upon her bedside table and then summoned a serving-elf from beyond the door. She entered swiftly, carrying a tray of bread, fruit, and wine, placed the tray in the middle of Erulastiel's bed, and was gone as quickly as she had entered. Erulastiel turned to look at Thranduil, who merely shrugged and sat down at the foot of her bed. And it was in this manner that Erulastiel found herself sharing a meal with the elvenking.

"You are in my quarters, little one," he responded, breaking her from her rumination on the past several days. "Where else would you be?"

"The dungeons, perhaps? I did commit treason, per your very words," she volleyed, taking a small bite of bread and smiling at Thranduil.

Past her cool facade, however, Erulastiel was shocked to finally learn of her location. His personal chambers? He must have countless rooms, she thought. Why bring her here? The idea simultaneously unnerved her and comforted her. She did not particularly care to be in such close and...intimate...proximity to the elvenking. However, after their conversation from several nights ago, she recognized a piece of herself within Thranduil's soul; it was a connection that she could not make with any other elf. They were both scarred by the darkness, and that, somehow, made them kindred spirits.

Thranduil shifted slightly at the foot of her bed, his cloak falling down upon the covers. He was again clothed in regal splendor; a crown of berries adorned his smoothed hair, and a golden robe billowed down his frame. Now rested, his eyes again held power and authority, and he appeared every inch a king. He rested easily upon her duvet, drinking in the fine wines and their spirited conversation.

"You did not commit treason, for you never crossed my borders. I believe you have me to thank for that," he said, smirking slightly at her and taking a sip from a rather full goblet of wine.

"Yes, my Lord, thank you for the arrow in my leg," Erulastiel responded, mustering as much sarcasm as she could hurl at Thranduil. "Were it not for you, I might be halfway to Imladris by now, instead of languishing in this bed. How terrible that would have been!"

Thranduil cocked his head and drank again, his eyes measuring her over the rim of his cup. They had hardened at her words, losing the ease of previous moments and now carrying a tinge of danger. Lowering it onto the tray, he toyed with some jewel upon its frame before speaking again.

"So, you were fleeing to Lord Elrond, then?" he asked, a slight edge carrying in his voice. "I had wondered where you planned to find asylum. I should have known that you would fly to your sister at Rivendell."

Erulastiel swallowed against the lump in her throat. True, Imladris had been her destination, but she dreaded the arrival and the moment of meeting her sister once more. After the battle that left her scarred, Celebrian could no longer bear the guilt of seeing her, and Erulastiel's sister had refused to visit Lorien. As the road between Imladris and Lorien became more treacherous with the growth of the darkness, journeys between the two kingdoms became impractical, and the sisters had not seen each other in decades. Erulastiel had hoped that this opportunity to visit her sister would allow for healing - and now she lay injured. The irony did not escape her, and she turned away from Thranduil's gaze, not wanting the elvenking to see the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She was not ready to reveal all of her secrets to him, especially when he still kept things from her.

She felt the bed become lighter, and sensed Thranduil's presence at her side. Keeping her eyes away from his face, she heard him sigh and speak.

"I have distressed you. That was not my intent," he said.

She turned to face him again, her eyes blazing and rimmed with tears, both of past sorrows and of present angers.

"Exactly what is your intent, my Lord?" she asked, seething with each word. "Since our meeting, you have ignored me, threatened me, ordered me shot, and attempted to drug me. If I am ever to consider trusting you, you must answer my concerns."

Thranduil appeared taken aback. His great, icy eyes widened in shock at her attack, and he swiftly stood from his crouching position at the head of her bedside. Sweeping through the room, he placed hands behind his back, twisting shimmering jewels upon his slender fingers. When he turned to face Erulastiel again, his eyes were full of questions.

"When did I attempt to drug you?" His deep voice echoed through the room, and Erulastiel could have sworn the elvenking truly did not understand her question.

"Do not play ignorant with me," she responded, attempting to gain answers through his confusion. "I saw the vial in your hands, I heard your order to fill my drink with its contents."

He did not respond, but remained motionless, staring at Erulastiel without blinking. Suddenly, his eyes became cold and harsh, losing all indication of their former state of misunderstanding and curiosity. The balance in the room had shifted, and she felt it. It was palpable. Her indignation now became his anger, and displeasure played upon his eyes.

"So, it was you who incapacitated Maerdes," he said softly, walking toward her with hands still clasped behind his back. She instinctively shrank back into the pillows, but Thranduil continued his slow, steady movement. "She remains in the healers' quarters, incapable of waking from her sleep. Tell me, little one," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "did you use your gift on her?"

Thranduil had reached her bedside, and he placed his arms on either side of her pillows, trapping her body with his. She was terrified. Somehow the tables had turned, and her interrogation had fueled his fires of anger. Trembling, she found herself unable to answer as his icy eyes bored into hers. Understanding that she would not respond, Thranduil closed his eyes and attempted to regain control. Slowly, he lowered himself until their foreheads were touching, and Erulastiel could feel the barely-concealed rage from the contact.

"Did you use your gift on my youngest handmaiden?" he asked again, keeping his forehead pressed against hers, and the deadly softness of his voice demanded an answer.

"I...I did...my Lord," she said, "But only because I feared for my life, because I was afraid you would harm me." She stopped, but found her voice again, this time stronger. "And it appears I was right to use my gift on Maerdes. I saw the vial you handed to her. What was it - some truth elixir? Something to incapacitate me?"

He did not move. They remained locked in their fiery embrace, the heat of anger radiating from their touching skin. Finally, Thranduil spoke again, his words a whisper of breath upon her lips.

"If only it had been such a potion, my life would be infinitely easier," he said softly.

Erulastiel could barely taste the wine upon his breath. Part of her wanted to drink it in, to fill herself with it, but another part raged against his control. She was only half-relieved when Thranduil removed his forehead and stood again beside her bed. Retrieving the tray from the covers, he turned away from her and walked to the door. Erulastiel was simultaneously relieved and disappointed, both happy to see the elvenking leave, and yet, she found herself longing for his blue eyes, for his deep voice that echoed through the walls. When he reached the door, Thranduil turned again to face her, his anger under control but his sadness evident in lined eyes.

"It was the sleeping draught you require to fight off the dreams of darkness," he spoke quietly. "Some will be delivered to your chambers shortly."

With that, he bowed to her and left the room. Erulastiel remained staring at the closed door, not comprehending why she suddenly felt so alone. A flash of light from the foot of her bed caught her attention - Thranduil's great silver cloak lay tangled amongst the duvet of her blankets. Minimizing her leg movements as much as possible, she retrieved the massive, shining fabric and pulled it over her body. His scent remained, infusing her pillows with red wine and pine needles, and Erulastiel found herself drifting off into an uneasy slumber.

When Thranduil returned several hours later, to deliver her sleeping draught and to retrieve his abandoned cloak, he found Erulastiel tangled in its silver folds. Smiling, he laid a small vial on her bedside and leaned over her sleeping frame. The starlight shone upon her pale skin, and Thranduil again found himself drawn to her. Bending down, he placed a soft kiss upon her forehead, lingering a moment longer before withdrawing, leaving his cloak and passions behind, shining beneath starlit skies.


	11. Newfound Companions

**Happy New Year, friends! I apologize for the long wait; I had surgery that didn't go as planned, one thing led to another, and here we are - one month later. I hope you all enjoy this extra-long update in return for your patience. Thank you all for your wonderful reviews and kind words; they help me more than you know! **

Nestadon paced the floors of the chamber as Erulastiel dug through a massive chest of clothes in the corner of the grand room. Every so often, she would hold up an article of clothing to her body, shake her head, and continue her search. Her anxious healer, meanwhile, resumed his protests.

"It has barely been one week, My Lady!" Nestadon exclaimed - for the third time, Erulastiel noted with a bemused smirk. "My Lord Thranduil has insisted you remain here for several more nights!"

She paused from her barrage against the chest and turned to face the healer, holding an oversized tunic against her chest. She almost felt sorry for him. Nestadon's face was white, his lips pressed into a disapproving frown, and his hands twisted nervously in front of his robes. Erulastiel had grown rather fond of the healer, and while his disposition was slightly more anxious than her own, she attributed it to being in Thranduil's service, and she attempted to grow closer to Nestadon. She had learned that the tall, dark-haired elf was Head Healer in this kingdom, promoted to this position after treating Thranduil's wounds after some great battle - Nestadon was rather vague on that point. But his guard always dropped and his loquaciousness bloomed forth when speaking about his family. He would speak for hours about his wife, Thambes, and his son, Canion. Thambes, he recounted, was a healer on the front lines of battle when they first encountered each other; even when they wed, she refused to leave her post in the vanguard of their forces, and she often ranged at their kingdom's borders for weeks on end, healing those sentries wounded in the increasingly frequent orc attacks. Erulastiel always saw a measure of pride gleaming in Nestadon's eyes when he spoke of Thambes, and she remarked that she would enjoy meeting his family someday. At that, tears pricked at the healers' eyes, his voice cracked, and he agreed that they would be honored by her company.

Still, as fond as she was of Nestadon, Erulastiel knew she simply couldn't remain in these chambers for another day.

"Nestadon," she responded calmly, "Please understand. I need to leave - even for a few hours. I promise to return before Thranduil's audience day has ended."

She offered a small smile and nodded slightly at Nestadon, attempting to calm his nerves. Erulastiel could see the inner battle raging inside her healer as he continued pacing the room, his slightly clammy skin appearing agitated beneath the light streaming forth from the white ceiling. He was weighing her words. They both knew that Thranduil held open audience in his throne chambers for several more hours, and would likely be preoccupied with elves and elleths begging for more protection at their borders. If Erulastiel was quick, she might have two or three hours before he returned. Finally, Nestadon turned to face her.

"I am not pleased," he began, "But I will allow you to leave."

Erulastiel grinned and lept toward her healer to offer a hug, but was stopped when Nestadon raised a hand and continued speaking.

"You will have two hours to spend in the library. I will escort you there, and when your time has finished, I will bring you back. Is this acceptable?"

Her eyebrows shot into her forehead and her smile fell from her face.

"I was hoping for some measure of freedom...perhaps arrows practice outside or a small ride on horseback?" she offered.

She was shocked when Nestadon laughed, not harsh or biting, but full of genuine amusement.

"Do you honestly believe, after the stunt that you pulled, that King Thranduil will allow you anywhere near a horse in the near future?" he laughed again, regaining his breath before continuing. "Be happy that I am allowing this. Were it up to the King, you would be here for three more nights."

Erulastiel sighed, but eventually nodded her consent. Two hours spent in the great library was vastly more entertaining than two more hours barred in these chambers. She turned back to the clothes chest, lightly rummaging through its contents.

"Those are all the King's garments," Nestadon remarked from behind her. "You will not find your clothes in there."

"I am aware," she responded quietly. "But I do not know where mine might be found. I assume that the King will not care too greatly if I borrow a tunic today."

Nestadon laughed softly.

"They will all drag on the floor behind you, My Lady."

Erulastiel turned to gaze at him with raised eyebrows.

"Help me, then," she snapped, her patience running thin.

Nestadon cringed slightly at her harshness. She sighed. She found herself becoming more irritable as of late; she had attributed it to the growing darkness at her mind and at Thranduil's borders, but still, she had no right taking out her rage on Nestadon. He had been nothing but helpful - almost a friend. She cast down her eyes.

"I apologize for my words," she said quietly. "Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive; you have been through many ordeals as of late," Nestadon offered a smile. "Come, let us find you some clothing." He paused. "You look like him, you know. When you raise your eyebrows in surprise, you look exactly like him."

Erulastiel said nothing, but returned to the chest.

They finally decided upon a simple black robe that billowed around Erulastiel's feet and that slipped far over her hands. She glared at Nestadon as he began to laugh, but even she couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of her appearance. Still, she needed clean garments to walk about the halls, and it was unlikely that she would encounter many other elves. After pulling her hair into a tight braid, she nodded at Nestadon, and the two exited Thranduil's quarters, making their slow way to the library. Erulastiel was not prepared for the lingering pain in her thigh, and walked with a slow limp toward their destination. At her side, Nestadon frowned slightly.

"Do you need to return?" he asked, his voice nervous and full of concern.

Erulastiel waved a hand.

"I am fine. My legs are simply stiff."

Her healer said nothing, but slowed his pace and gently took Erulastiel's arm, supporting and guiding her through hallways and corridors of twisting whitewood trees and glowing lights. They passed a few elves, but aside from a confused look at Erulastiel's attire, received no comments. Erulastiel felt the pain growing greater, and when she was prepared to return to Thranduil's quarters, Nestadon stopped in front of a great pair of birch doors that towered above even the healer's tall frame.

"The library of our kingdom," he said softly. He turned to look at her. "I have duties to attend to, but will gladly remain with you if you so desire."

Erulastiel shook her head and smiled.

"I am fine, Nestadon. Thank you for everything," she touched her fingers to her forehead in a gesture of thanks and respect. "Two hours?"

"Two hours," he replied; and bowing deeply, the healer strode quickly away and disappeared around a corner.

Erulastiel glanced up at the great white doors; shining in the light of the corridor, they appeared nearly magical in nature. A great excitement formed in her stomach, and she pushed open the massive frame. The sight inside was incredible, and Erulastiel couldn't help but gasp slightly. The room was brightly lit, with a constant aura of starlight gleaming within the massive hall. Two columns of towering shelves, full of manuscripts, stretched back in rows farther than her eyes could perceive, disappearing into the distance under soft blue and white lights. Between the columns of books, a single, long table paralleled the path of the shelves, allowing for quiet contemplation and study.

"Incredible," she breathed, her eyes wide with amazement at the great library of Middle Earth.

"It is, isn't it?"

The voice echoed softly beside her, and Erulastiel jumped slightly, finding a smiling elleth standing mere feet from her location. She was older than Erulastiel, with auburn hair that flowed in loose waves down the back of her deep blue dress, and with brilliant green eyes that peered knowingly at Erulastiel. Not knowing any better, and restraining herself from diving into the elleth's mind, Erulastiel bowed slightly to her and kept her eyes cast downward. To her surprise, ringing and genuine laughter reached her ears, and she looked up curiously.

"You bow to me? I have heard rumors of you, Lady Erulastiel, but still you surprise. Come, rise," she grabbed Erulastiel's arm and escorted her to the carved benches of the long table.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Gelluives; my husband is Arveldir. Have you heard the name?" Gelluives raised her eyebrows, perhaps expecting Erulastiel to be familiar with her or her husband.

She wracked her memory; had she met them upon her arrival in the kingdom? Perhaps they had visited her while she recovered from the arrow wound? Had Nestadon mentioned their names? Still, she could remember nothing, and sadly shook her head.

"I am sorry, My Lady, I am not familiar with your name."

Again, her companion laughed, and her laughter was like a cool, bubbling stream, full of life and lightness, and lacking all malice.

"There is nothing to apologize for! Well, perhaps the King should apologize, but I will speak with him later." Gelluives must have noted the confused expression on Erulastiel's face, so she continued. "Arveldir and I were counselors to Thranduil's father, King Oropher," her eyes grew sad, but she continued. "After Oropher's death, Thranduil was unable to perform the duties of kingship alone, and entrusted myself and Arveldir with much control. We educated him, helped him, counseled him, until he was prepared to truly ascend and assume responsibility of the throne."

The whirlwind of information was, to Erulastiel, like the onslaught of the harshest storm. She had only met Gelluives, but already the exceptionally forward elleth had flipped her known world around. The library spun around her, and she rubbed her aching thigh in an attempt to return to the present.

"Why are you telling me these things?" she asked. "We have only just met."

Gelluives shrugged slightly.

"The years have taught me many things, My Lady. Perhaps they have made me too brash; but would you rather flit around, speaking about fashion and parties and gossip, or would you rather learn about the history of your future kingdom? From your apparent lack of concern with clothing," she said, gesturing toward Erulastiel's massive robe, "I would assume you prefer the latter."

Erulastiel's mouth gaped; it was unladylike, she knew, but she had never encountered anyone so honest and straightforward as Gelluives. Her attitude was a breath of fresh air after the stifling confusion of Thranduil's temperament. But fear pricked at her insides; she wanted to trust Gelluives, but, as with Maerdes, she found herself guarded and unsure, especially with Thranduil's recent and strange changes toward her. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet Gelluives' green ones, but was surprised to meet a strong barrier around the elleth's mind. Shame filled her, and Erulastiel lowered her face, unable to meet Gelluives' gaze.

Soft fingers under her jaw drew her eyes back. The older elleth smiled gently at Erulastiel.

"I know of your gift," she said quietly. "You are very powerful, but also very vulnerable. Do not mistake your pain for experience." Erulastiel nodded and Gelluives continued. "I believe you might be a great leader of our kingdom, as Thranduil is also beginning to become. Will you let me help you, daughter of Galadriel?"

Erulastiel smiled. Gelluives, she believed, could be a true friend, an island in this strange land of darkness and swirling pain, and she hoped she could live up to the elleth's expectations.

"Yes, My Lady, I will," she responded.

"Gelluives, please," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Please, call me by my name. Would you prefer Erulastiel?"

She nodded.

"Thank goodness!" Gelluives exclaimed. "I cannot stand formalities. Come, I will show you one of our greatest treasures."

Gelluives smiled broadly, pulling Erulastiel to her feet and directing her toward the great shelves of the library. As they walked, Gelluives spoke passionately, pointing out volumes of histories of Middle Earth, manuscripts of languages so old that only the greatest elves could read their marks, and books of myth and legend that sprawled across rows of shelves. She pulled out massive maps and unrolled their parchment, educating Erulastiel on political and social connections to surrounding strongholds and towns. She learned of trade relations with Laketown, of the destruction of Dale, of socioeconomic structure of nearby villages, of the culture of dwarves. And when Nestadon arrived to escort her back to Thranduil's chambers, Erulastiel hugged Gelluives as though the elleth were a pillar in a storm. Glancing back as Nestadon helped her limp across the library, Erulastiel thought that Gelluives, illuminated by the dying light of the purple evening glow, was truly sent to help her heal.


	12. A Summoning

"The King has summoned you."

Erulastiel turned away from the Treaty of Dunland, some minor agreement between the Men of the House of Haleth and the Rohirrim, likely long broken by now. While not exactly thrilling reading, Erulastiel knew that the documents contained in the great library would aid her when she ascended to govern at Thranduil's side. Ever since Nestadon had escorted her to its cavernous halls four days prior, Erulastiel had spent every possible moment hunched over manuscripts and tracing her fingers over ancient and modern maps. Occasionally, Nestadon would join her, but his duties were primarily in the healing quarters, which had recently seen an influx from increased orc attacks at the borders. The entire tension of the kingdom was heightened, and Erulastiel could feel anxiety on Nestadon's skin - she became more at ease when Gelluives gave her company and education. The older elleth had taken Erulastiel under her wing, and ensured that her arms were always full of books to read and treaties to understand.

Of course, her constant studying and the increasing attacks meant that she hadn't seen Thranduil since their last argument in his chambers. Erulastiel was far from concerned. She was gleaning occasional information on his past from Gelluives, and she was slowly coming to terms with their relationship, or lack thereof, as she attempted to see governing from Thranduil's point of view. Her empathy, however, was tossed aside at Gelluives' words.

"The King has _summoned _me?" she asked, rising swiftly from the polished bench and stalking over to the counselor.

Gelluives nodded slowly, seeing the rage gathering behind Erulastiel's eyes. She placed her hands on the young elleth's shoulders and spoke evenly to her.

"He has not left the throne chambers for many days, Erulastiel," Gelluives responded, attempting to calm her down. "The increased orc attacks have left him exhausted, and he barely eats or sleeps. Please, do not be too angry with him."

Erulastiel took several deep breaths, attempting to regain control of her anger. Still, a pit formed deep in her stomach, an emotion that felt akin to shame spread throughout her body. Her face flushed red and her palms shook as she gathered the manuscripts and hastily shoved them back onto their shelves.

"Tell me, Gelluives, will this be our relationship? Will Thranduil rule absolutely, only calling for me when he requires respite from his duties?" Erulastiel fumed with anger. "He does not _summon_ me. I am not his lesser."

Finishing her violent torrent upon the treaties and maps, Erulastiel turned again to face Gelluives. The elleth had stood silently by, watching and listening to her enraged words. Slowly, she moved toward Erulastiel and, taking her by the arm, began guiding her from the library. Erulastiel still limped slightly, but Gelluives maneuvered them so that the pained movement was barely visible. As they walked through the corridors, the counselor spoke softly and swiftly to Erulastiel.

"You are too much like him," she began. "Your independence and stubbornness will be the end of you both. Now is not the time for these battles; work with him. Orc packs gather at our borders as we speak."

"And will My King use me as a trusted advisor? Will he take my counsel on issues of archer positions and formations? Will he value my opinion? Or will he simply use me as a distraction from his battles?

Erulastiel did not expect the soft laughter at her side.

"And is that how Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel rule?" she asked, stopping their progress and turning to place her hands on either sides of Erulastiel's face. "Does your Lord Father disregard her opinions?"

"Of course not," Erulastiel stuttered out. "But my mother...my mother is Lady Galadriel. My father would never dare-"

Her words were cut off.

"Then rule as does the Lady of Lorien," Gelluives responded simply, turning away and continuing their slow walk to the throne chambers.

When they reached the great doors to the throne chambers, Gelluives turned away from Erulastiel with a lingering smile and a slight squeeze of the hand. Then she disappeared around a nearby corner, leaving Erulastiel alone with the gleaming door and her mixed emotions. Slowly, she raised a shaky hand to the frame, giving it a hard shove. To her dismay, it did not move. She pushed again, harder this time. Nothing. Now raging from the summons and her inability to perform simple tasks, Erulastiel took several steps back, then ran quickly at the heavy frame - which opened a split step before she reached the door. Tumbling forward without a barrier, she stumbled into the throne room and fell, face first, upon a great platform of oaken wood.

Her face burning with shame and anger, Erulastiel quickly stood and adjusted her clothes - at least, she thought, they finally suited her. Nestadon had found her clothing, and she felt more at home in her tunics and heavy pants than in the adorned robes of Thranduil. Pulling down her tunic and readjusting her pants, Erulastiel looked swiftly around the room.

Laughter called her gaze upward. A winding staircase led to an elevated throne, upon which sat King Thranduil. His legs were lazily draped over the arm of the massive chair, and his silver robes billowed about his tall frame. And while he presented a regal splendor, Erulastiel could see the dark rings of exhaustion beneath his eyes and hear the tinges of sadness within his laugh.

"Perhaps you have been bed-bound for far too long, little one. You seem to have forgotten the difficult art of walking."

Erulastiel glared up at the King, feeling that she finally fit his condescending nickname.

"Actually, My Lord, I have been spending my days in your library," she responded lightly, hiding any anger she felt toward him beneath veiled sarcasm. "Of course, you would know that, had you bothered to _summon_ me earlier."

Thranduil's eyebrows shot up, a slight smirk played upon his lips.

"Ah, I had assumed that my summons would anger you. See, My Lady, how quickly we are becoming acquainted?" He rose from the throne, sauntering languidly down the staircase to her platform. "I was aware of your visits to my library. My counselors are loyal to me, after all."

He reached the great platform and stood in front of Erulastiel. Now closer, she could clearly see the gauntness of his face and the combination of fear and resolve behind his eyes. Feeling guilty for reacting so harshly, but still seething slightly from his attitude, Erulastiel attempted to quell her anger in her next words.

"You do not _summon_ me, My Lord. In the future, I hope you will remember this."

Thranduil's face was a mask. He stood still, then raised a hand. Erulastiel flinched involuntarily at the movement, which Thranduil did not miss. Moving swiftly, his long fingers placed a loose strand of hair behind Erulastiel's ear, letting his hand stroke along her face and down to her jaw. His light touch danced beneath upon her skin, and she felt a shiver shoot up her spine. Suddenly, his hand fell, and the strangely peaceful moment was broken.

"It is not my intent...I would never willfully harm you, My Lady," he said quietly. "In mind or in body. I promise, I will never use that word again."

Erulastiel blinked and swallowed hard, fighting against the emotions that wanted to burst forth from her mouth, fighting the urge at her lips that wanted to taste Thranduil's own. Instead, she raised her shaking hands to his pale skin, cupping his face and moving his icy blue eyes to hers. She silently issued forth a question, and she could feel Thranduil tense momentarily at the unspoken gaze between them. Then he nodded and dropped his barriers, allowing her access into his mind.

Flashes of pain, of orcs slaughtering children and running down human men and women at their borders, filled her mind. She saw arrows and crudely fashioned blades, saw fire and death, and then a burst of flame and Blackspeech issued forth, and all things went black as Thranduil wrenched his consciousness from hers and grabbed her forcefully as she stumbled back.

"The enemy..." she said, breathing heavily in an attempt to regain her strength.

Thranduil guided her to a side table, forcing her into a chair and crouching down in front of her.

"Yes. The enemy grows stronger. The orcs at our borders are beginning to infiltrate and attack both Elves and Men," he explained, his voice deep with pain and anger. "Our border guards cannot hold them off much longer."

"They require reinforcements?" Erulastiel asked. "We must develop a defense strategy, or perhaps a counterattack."

Thranduil looked warily at her, then rose and poured a large glass of wine. Downing its contents, he quickly poured another and threw himself into the chair across from her. They were silent as Thranduil mused over his wine and Erulastiel pondered over what she had seen. If the orcs were attacking human men, women, and children at the edges of Thranduil's kingdom, it would not be long before they attacked Elves as well. Both races required the aid of the Woodland Realm.

"Thus far, I have enforced a strict isolationist policy," said Thranduil, interrupting her thoughts. "It is why I balked at bringing you into my kingdom. For centuries, under this rule, the Greenwood has been at peace."

Erulastiel could not believe her ears. She rose quickly and angrily.

"Women and children are being slaughtered! Do you truly believe the Greenwood to be safe when those who require your protection are murdered by our enemy?"

Thranduil rose swiftly and met her gaze.

"And what would you have me do? Send our archers and skilled fighters? Spill Elvish blood?" He smirked, a cold gesture, and downed his glass before throwing it to the ground, sending shattered shards spinning across the oaken platform. "No, little one, enough of my people's blood has been shed in defense of other lands."

"So you will do nothing?" she countered, her voice cracking with emotion, unbelieving in the presence of Thranduil's coldness. "You will sentence them to death as you hole up within these walls?"

The King stopped and stared at her, his eyes turning to ice. His look was enough to strike a bolt of fear into Erulastiel's mind, and she took a slight step away from him. As she slowly backed away, Thranduil mirrored her steps, walking toward her. Suddenly, Erulastiel felt her back hit a wall, and felt herself trapped between its hard surface and Thranduil's body. Arms raise on either side of her, and she gazed up into hardened eyes.

"I fear both the heat and the cold of my heart," he whispered. "Do not doubt my rage, nor my compassion for my people. Doubt my ability to stop once I have enacted my revenge."

Erulastiel swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably between the exhausted, enraged King and the branches of the cold wall at her back.

"What will you do, then?" she asked, her words coming out softly.

"That, little one, is precisely why I _summoned_ you," he breathed, his response the lightest of dances upon her lips. "I need the counsel of a trained sentry and, momentarily, mine are preoccupied at the borders. I need to develop a counterattack."

She could barely believe her ears; Thranduil, King of the Greenwood and stoic proponent of isolationism, wanted her to conceive and enact a defense and attack against their enemy. _Then rule as does the Lady of Lorien_; Gelluives' words echoed somewhere in the back of her mind. But they were far away, and Erulastiel was already leaning forward, pulling herself away from the branches of the shining walls and toward the lips of the King, the lips whose words continued to surprise her and whose taste of wine she was beginning to believe she might appreciate. It was soft but passionate, longer than their previous kisses and with more force behind its deliverance. But no fantasy world lasts forever, and their embrace was broken by an overhead flash of starlight that, ironically, brought Thranduil and Erulastiel crashing back to Middle Earth.

Thranduil leaned away and extended a hand to Erulastiel. She smiled and, appreciating the unnecessary but kind gesture, took it, and followed the King to a side chamber, where two independent but unnaturally alike rulers developed a plan to defend their kingdom.


	13. Battle Preparations

Erulastiel stalked through the packed corridor, taking long strides amidst the teeming masses. A plan for defense had been developed and approved by the kingdom's lead archers and fighters, and now the palace was alive with elves and elleths preparing for the coming battle. Warriors hurried from the armory to their battalion chambers, clothing themselves with light protection and sharp arrows while learning of their battle position. Healers rushed about, gathering healing herbs and preparing their quarters for a massive influx of wounded. Perhaps most unnervingly, the skilled blacksmiths were busy forging decorative weapons alongside fighting bows and arrows, preparing final honors for the future dead.

While the halls were crowded and frantic, there was a measure of acceptance among those who readied themselves for battle, and Erulastiel found herself rejuvenated by their stoic energy. She had spent two nights without sleep developing the defense and attack strategies with Thranduil and his high counselors, but now was no time for rest. She quickly manuevered around corners and throngs of elves back to Thranduil's quarters; her bow and arrows were there, along with her mithril and lightweight ranging armor that she had packed, unbeknownst to Istimiel. A pang of sadness shot through her heart; she suddenly realized how much she missed her beloved handmaiden and her homeland.

"Where are you going?"

The voice sounded just behind her, and Erulastiel looked over her shoulder to see Thranduil rushing up to her side, walking with a brisk pace. He had changed his attire; dressed in deep grey and silver armor that covered his shoulders and forearms, and covered with a cape of gleaming starlight, he commanded the respect of every elf in the corridor. As they sped through the hallway, warriors and blacksmiths and healers bowed swiftly to Thranduil and Erulastiel before hurrying to their destinations. Every so often, Thranduil would stop an archer or a young healer, addressing them by name and encouraging them for the battle ahead - an action Erulastiel did not expect from the cold king, and one she appreciated beyond measure.

"My arrows and armor are in your quarters," she responded, nodding to a junior counselor who bowed low to her. "I need to retrieve them before we depart for battle."

A heavy, gloved hand on her shoulder stopped her progress. As elves teemed past them in rivers of motion and warlike intensity, Erulastiel turned to to face Thranduil, whose face showed a flash of fear.

"No. Do not attempt to fight with me," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. "You will not be joining the battle. Stay here, help the healers and the wounded."

Erulastiel snorted and wrenched her shoulder free of his grasp, making her way to Thranduil's quarters. Reaching the door, she wrenched it open and walked inside, with Thranduil following close behind. He slammed the heavy door behind him, and immediately the rushing streams of warriors was replaced by the tense silence of their disagreement. Erulastiel spun to stare at him, her eyes blazing. He could not honestly intend to lock her away in the palace walls while her future people and husband battled fierce enemies on the borders of the kingdom. She had recently thought deeply on her role as Lady of the Greenwood, and took her inspiration from Lord Elrond of Imladris. His reputation as counselor and warrior, as friend and leader, as inviting and strong and capable, served as her basis for ruling - and she would not be left behind, left to hide while her people fought and died.

"You must be mad, King Thranduil," she said. "You cannot truly believe that I will remain here."

"Not two weeks ago, you were severely wounded," he replied. "You will not be physically capable of withstanding the journey to our borders, let alone fighting a legion of orcs."

Erulastiel stared at him, then quickly ran the length of the chambers, stopping to tuck into a ball, jump onto the bed, and jumping to rest in front of Thranduil.

"Am I not capable?" she asked, offering slight smirk.

Her victory was short-lived, as without warning, Thranduil grasped her wounded thigh and pressed a finger onto her healing scar. Gasping in pain, Erulastiel fell to one leg, cursing the King's name under her breath. He removed his hand and crouched down in front of her.

"No, you are not," he said. Seeing Erulastiel about to protest, he held up a hand. "However, because I recognize that you will escape immediately upon my departure, I will allow you to accompany the battalions, but from a location of my choosing."

Erulastiel considered his words. While she preferred to use her arrows within the front lines of battle, she realized that her new station as governing member of this kingdom necessitated her compromise on certain issues. Nodding her approval of Thranduil's plan, she struggled to her feet and wordlessly began searching for her armor.

The door swung open, and both Thranduil and Erulastiel quickly turned to the intruder.

"My Lord, My Lady," said the tall elf, dressed in golden armor and carrying a gilded helmet. "The battalions are prepared to depart at your word."

Thranduil nodded his approval.

"Thank you, Curuon. Gather the vanguard just outside our gates; I will be without briefly to address them. Ensure scouts have been sent out in two waves: one to inform the current sentries of our plans, and the second to clear the forests of any obstacles to our progress. With swift feet, we shall reach the nearest borders within the next nightfall," he paused and turned to Erulastiel. "My Lady, this is Curuon, my second in command."

Erulastiel dipped her head slightly, acknowledging the newcomer. Curuon bowed deeply in return, raising his head, but keeping his eyes toward the ground.

"Lady Erulastiel of Lorien," he said, his voice strained, "I have heard of your arrival, and apologize for my lack of introduction before now. Upon our return from battle, I hope to greet you properly at our victory feast."

"And you shall," she responded, unsure of Curuon's reason for keeping his eyes downcast.

The second in command bowed again, then quickly turned from Thranduil's chambers and took his leave. Confused, Erulastiel returned to her armor, attempting to tie her lightweight breastplate over her mithril. Her fingers fumbled in anticipation of the oncoming storm of battle, but they were relieved by Thranduil's solid hands. Adjusting her armor to ensure its proper placement, Thranduil silently helped Erulastiel prepare.

"Why would he not look at me?" she finally asked, breaking the silence between them.

Thranduil sighed heavily, wrapping Erulastiel's belt and sheath about her waist.

"Many have heard of your gift, and of your incident with Maerdes," he responded quietly. "Can you blame them for being wary of meeting your eyes?"

Erulastiel grew cold. A deep part of her realized that this was Curuon's reason, but still, she was ashamed of her gift and of her growing inability to control its ramifications. She felt it. As the orc attacks grew stronger, so did the darkness at the edges of her mind, and even the sleeping draught failed to hold back dreams of terror during the night. There was another feeling, something creeping and freezing, a new emotion of pure despair that now consumed her mind, and she feared something terrible was near. In the long nights, she dreamt of terrible visions: Caras Galadhon burning, Imladris under siege, ghostly visages of her mother and sister floating past her face, making their way Westward across the Sea. She often awoke screaming, and was left to comfort herself in the lonely reaches of the dark nights.

"It grows stronger with the growing power of our enemy," she said. "I cannot control it for long."

"Yes, it springs from the dark scar upon your shoulder," Thranduil responded, his hand lightly lingering upon her upper back where the pale mark remained. "The dark forces upon that blade are not mere orc anger; they gain strength from something more foul."

"Do you still suffer from your scar?" she asked quietly.

There was a pause as Thranduil's hands stilled at her back.

"Yes," he said.

"Will you ever reveal it to me?"

"Perhaps," he said, his hands regaining their strength and again fastening her armor. "But not now, and certainly never on the eve of battle."

Erulastiel frowned, a gesture that Thranduil could not see. She remembered snatches of conversation overhead in Lorien counsel chambers, of her father complaining that Mirkwood's King was no longer fit to rule, of her mother countering him, offering vague prophecy of times of prosperity to come. She remembered Lord Elrond speaking, his even tone reminding them of horrible battles and the darkness of scars.

Suddenly, Thranduil's hands were removed from her back. He stopped and spun Erulastiel to face him, and pulled her into his armored chest. They remained there for several moments, until their embrace was broken by another intrusion into the chambers.

"My Lor - oh, I apologize," Nestadon's voice echoed from the entrance.

Thranduil smiled down at Erulastiel, then turned to face his head healer.

"There is nothing to apologize for, Nestadon," he responded, the light smile still playing upon his face, mingling with flashes of exhaustion and fear. "Tell me, are the healers prepared?"

Nestadon nodded, swallowing the embarrassment still evident in his eyes.

"Yes, My Lord. They await the wounded, as your warriors await you command."

Thranduil glanced to the side, nodding slightly at Nestadon's words. Erulastiel could see a shared emotion in both their faces, something understood by two elves who had seen battle and destruction at each others' sides. Somewhere, she realized that Thranduil might not have seen battle since the one that claimed his father's life - but she pushed that thought aside, recognizing it would do them no good. Walking silently to Thranduil's side, she place a gentle hand upon his shoulder. His eyes turned to hers, but they were far away, seeing memories that Erulastiel could not perceive, memories of battles past and blood spilt.

"My King," she said softly. "Thranduil, your kingdom awaits your command."

He suddenly snapped away from his thoughts, truly seeing her standing beside him. Nodding, more firmly this time, he turned to face Nestadon.

"Return to the healing chambers. Inform your healers that they should expect wounded to arrive within three nights."

Nestadon bowed and exited the quarters, leaving Thranduil alone with Erulastiel again. Again addressing Erulastiel, the King placed a hand upon her shoulder as they faced each other. His blue eyes were filled with many emotions; fear and apprehension ruled, and Erulastiel realized that, even now, he questioned his decision to lead his people into battle. Erulastiel felt a twinge of guilt at this. She recognized that, in part, her influence forced him against his isolationism. But then again, images of women and children, hunted down and slaughtered at their borders, filled her mind, and she again felt her strong resolve return. Allowing this to fuel her, she steadied her hands and hardened her face, and nodded confidently to Thranduil.

"Will you join me as I address my people?" he asked, his voice lacking all command, completely immersed in a true and honest desire for equal companionship on this, the eve of great battle. "Will you ride out with me at dawn, ride out for the Greenwood and for Lorien?"

Courage and inspiration filling her soul, Erulastiel smiled at the King, raising her head and allowing her eyes to fill with triumphant anticipation. Together, they left Thranduil's chambers, and prepared to rally the Greenwood's troops and people to battle agains the growing darkness, a darkness that had come to challenge them all.


	14. Death, Part One

Her dress was terribly uncomfortable.

The handmaiden who had dressed her used the word "ethereal" to describe the shimmering folds of white gold that cascaded down her body and swept slightly along the floor. And Erulastiel could not deny its beauty. Shining like starlight, the dress had apparently been commissioned by Gelluives when she first caught word of Erulastiel's arrival in the Woodland Realm. How the counselor knew her measurements, Erulastiel would never guess; and uncomfortable as she felt, a small part of her thanked Gelluives for having the dress made. She would have felt terribly out of place at the banquet without the wise elleth's actions.

"My Lady," came a sudden voice. A young elf stood at her side, looking down at her empty cup. "Would you care for some wine, Lady Erulastiel?" he asked. "It is a fine Dorwinion vintage, brought in especially for the celebration."

Not a celebration, Erulastiel thought, but a drunken wake. She knew nothing of wine. The words vintage, sweet, dry, red, white - they met nothing to her, as she heavily preferred to remain in charge of her senses at all times. However, tonight was supposedly a celebratory occasion, and as Thranduil's betrothed, it would be unseemly for her to refuse the drink. Nodding to the elf, she allowed her cup to be filled with this Dorwinion wine. Red liquid flowed into her goblet, spilling from the elf's golden decanter like a river of blood.

* * *

"FALL BACK!"

She was screaming at a small cluster of young border guards who refused to draw back to the lines. They had been mistaken about the orc movements and enemy numbers; instead of small clusters attacking concentrated sections of the kingdom's boundaries, massive waves of orcs, spread across an increasingly widening section, fell in rows upon the borders. It was a fatal mistake, a miscommunication of massive proportions, and its deadly implications were playing out upon the bodies of their fallen dead.

They had been fighting for two days and one night, and the second evening was falling. The number of dead was staggering. Erulastiel's company, responsible for a small, heavily wooded sector of the border, had lost nearly one third of their warriors thus far, and she understood that only within the high reaches of the Greenwood's trees would her archers survive the oncoming night. She issued the order to Rameth, her second-in-command, and the elleth sprang from her post and toward the line of battle, crying out for the warriors to retreat to the branches of the thick trees.

Rameth was near her age, an elleth born to outlying settlements of the Realm. She rose quickly through the ranks of the border guards, aided by her skill with bow and arrow and her commanding presence. When Erulastiel arrived at her precinct with her company from the inner kingdom, Rameth had drawn her aside, listening in perfect silence to Erulastiel's orders, breaking in only to name the number of dead, and then had efficiently relayed these orders before Erulastiel could blink. Rameth was quick and capable, and had fought bravely alongside Erulastiel for the past days of the terrible battle.

"No! Annoneth!"

Her second-in-command was shouting, rushing toward three sentries who would not retreat. Two were cut down immediately by rushing orcs, their blood a flash against the dying light of day. Erulastiel felt their death blows in her soul; their spirits she perceived leaving their lifeless bodies. Every death was felt; the ringing swords and singing arrows were a dagger ripping through her mind and threatening to break down her defenses against an oncoming darkness. Still, one elleth remained, her black hair whipping in the harsh winds as she spun and killed and spun again. She only stopped spinning when the sword was driven through her chest.

"NO!"

The scream of pain that ripped from Rameth's throat was horrible; it was the battle cry of the damned. Reaching the dying elleth, Rameth quickly cut down the four remaining orcs around her body, then scooped the black-haired warrior into her arms. Rushing to where Erulastiel stood, she knelt down amidst the sounds of death that echoed around their souls. Rameth's tears mingled with the mud of their destroyed ground and the blood pumping from the elleth's chest.

"My sister..." she whispered hoarsely, her voice echoing the pulsing pain. "Annoneth..."

Erulastiel closed her eyes. She could not heal the young elleth, but only provide comfort in her dying moments. Opening her eyes again, she looked deeply into Annoneth's eyes, so mingled with pain and fear and despair and the uncomprehending acceptance of the dying. Taking upon her mind the image of some unremembered time, Erulastiel imparted the peace of the Sea upon Annoneth, allowing the elleth to leave Middle Earth with the hope of of the West:

_To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying.  
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.  
West, west away, the round sun is falling.  
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,  
The voices of my people that have gone before me?  
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;  
For our days are ending and our years failing.  
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.  
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,  
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,  
In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,  
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!_

Annoneth left the world accompanied by the wrenching screams of her sister and the golden hope of rising dawn. Erulastiel stood, her hands coated with deep red blood that flowed from the dead elleth's wound.

* * *

A soft hand brushed against hers. She jolted from the stained memory, her mind wrenching from the darkness of the days of battle. Thranduil was looking at her, eyes muddied with concern. He did not speak, but allowed her to catch her ragged breath before releasing her hand. Nodding at him after the memories eased, she raised slightly shaking fingers to her goblet and sipped at the red wine within. She found it sweet and enveloping, and her throat welcomed the warm drink.

"Careful, little one," came Thranduil's voice from her side. "That is a powerful vintage."

Erulastiel stopped drinking and rested her cup upon the oaken surface of their grand table. She turned to look at the Elvenking, he himself showing signs of heavy drinking.

"How powerful?" she asked, her voice sounding out like the hollow horn that broke through the darkness to honor the dead.

"Very."

She stopped and mused over the wine, swirling its deep red contents around in her cup. Over the brim, she could see finely dressed elves and elleths laughing and dancing to some unheard music that did not reach her pounding ears. Smiles, smiles so strange upon lips that had previously cried out for their beloved dead, graced the faces of survived warriors and healers who had broken through the long night into the light of a cautious dawn. Without turning to look at Thranduil, she posed a final question.

"Will it make me forget?" she responded.

There was a pause. She could feel Thranduil measuring her words, testing them for their weight. Finally, he issued forth a whispered response, barely perceptible above the din of strange celebration.

"For tonight," he said.

She nodded, unblinking, unlooking at the Elvenking who had brought her to this strange land, who had wounded her, fought with her, summoned her, and finally trusted her with the fate of his people in battle. She could not look at him, could not meet his eyes. Instead, she raised the cup to her welcoming lips and drank deeply of the wine. The fallen dead flashed through her memory, their bodies heaped upon mossy ground that would greet their final breaths, their eyes open but unseeing and unfeeling, their souls finally freed and dashing across the Sea into the West. But she was not free. She was darkness-bound, and her eyes could not perceive the coming glory of victorious dawn, when the lonely battle would fall away, and beneath the burning mast she would enter unto swift a rising sun.

She could not see it. She could only choose to forget.


	15. Death, Part Two

On the fourth day, they left the dead.

The dawn of that sunrise blazed across the fields beyond the thickly wooded borders, and the sun's cold rays did nothing to ease the darkness that covered their hearts. Victory had been claimed during the long night, some strange triumph that felt neither glorious nor necessary at that time. Their company had lost nearly three quarters of its warriors. Their bodies lay peacefully twisted upon the mossy and blood-stained ground, their eyes staring into the sunrise they could not see, their limbs entangled with the orcs whom they had dragged into death with them.

Erulastiel had stood on a high branch, surveying the damage with equally dead eyes. She bled heavily from a gash across her forehead, her injured thigh was throbbing with the effort of four days hard battle, and her mind was sick from the darkness that threatened to overtake her lest she release her guard. There were too many dead; so many were not supposed to perish. About her, the remaining warriors sat silently at their posts, nursing wounds both physical and spiritual. It was a victorious defeat, a dark sunrise.

"My Lady Erulastiel," Rameth's voice, harsh and lifeless, met her ears. "A messenger from the far reaches awaits your audience."

She nodded at the elleth. Her second-in-command held no passion, no spark in her eyes, only an emptiness that Erulastiel knew well; she herself had felt it when Celebrian left for Rivendell, leaving her without farewell or promise of reunion in another world. Placing a hand on Rameth's shoulder, she nodded, allowing the messenger to approach.

A fair elf stepped out from the shadows of the tall branches. His hair was neatly tied and his clothing strangely clean; indeed, Erulastiel wondered if the young elf had actually seen battle in the past few days. Had the other battalions been hardly touched? It was simultaneously a hopeful and disparaging thought; she shook it from her head as the messenger spoke.

"The other companies have long since drawn back to the inner kingdom," the blond-haired elf stated brusquely, wasting no time with formalities. "King Thranduil and the wounded approach the palace gates as we speak."

Something caught in Erulastiel's throat. She had not thought on Thranduil since they departed before the battle. He led the vanguard, supposedly taking the brunt of orc attacks - they had been wrong, of course. Her company, and several others amidst the trees along the border, had taken the harshest blow of their enemy's powerful fist. She wondered how he had fared, if he had been injured - if he wondered or cared about her fate in the least. Swallowing hard against the slight lump at her throat, she spoke with the messenger.

"How do the other companies fare?" she asked, her voice tight, almost dreading the answer.

The messenger briefly closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Many sacrificed their lives in defense of the borders, My Lady," he said quietly, the roughness of his voice somewhat lessened. "The King will send honor guards to bury them shortly."

Erulastiel nodded, dismissing the elf and asking him to accompany her remaining warriors back to the palace. He bowed and agreed, leaving to gather what remained of her company, in fighters and in spirit. After he had departed, she turned to face Rameth. The elleth had turned her gaze to the ground, her eyes slowly moving over the bodies of the dead, taking in a sight she had likely never seen. Remembering her first battle, Erulastiel placed her hands on the elleth's shoulders, urging her to meet her gaze. Rameth's eyes showed a spirit destroyed.

"She was my sister," she said. "I promised...I promised our parents that I would protect her..."

Tears sprang up at the corners of Rameth's eyes, and she quickly turned away from Erulastiel to wipe them away. Erulastiel shook her head and sighed slightly. She wanted to comfort Rameth, and she only knew the elleth might find some comfort in her own story.

"During my first battle," she began, her voice halting at first then growing stronger, "I was injured. Terribly injured. My sister, she was a sentry at our borders, and she had promised our parents that she would protect me throughout the fighting."

She stopped and pulled away the bloodstained tunic, showing the pale scar that graced her neck. Rameth's eyes widened slightly at the sight.

"I was injured by a dark blade, whose foul name I dare not speak. Upon our return to Caras Galadhon, my sister was so consumed by her guilt and grief that she vowed never to return to Lorien. She lives now at Imladris; I have not seen her for many, many years."

Erulastiel moved her tunic back into place, covering the mark from Rameth's curious eyes. She placed a comforting hand alongside the elleth's face, attempting to provide some hope for others, but unable to keep any for herself.

"Do not become consumed by grief," she said softly. "Return to your family. Rejoice; know that your sister is at peace."

Rameth smiled slightly, but the tears could no longer be held back. Grasping Erulastiel's tunic, she allowed herself to sob, to release the barrage of sadness that had been welled within her during the long nights of endless battle. Erulastiel hugged the elleth, remaining with her until the messenger returned; it was time to return to the palace. Light of pale dawn streamed through the heavy branches as Erulastiel withdrew from Rameth and took a dying look at the scene before her eyes. It had not been her first battle, but it had been her most horrific victory, a success without joy, a shadowed dawn of a repeated day. They turned their backs on the dead and began the journey inward as sunbeams embraced their darkened hearts.

* * *

The palace gates opened heavily, welcoming the final company back without joyous celebration. Halls teemed with movement as Erulastiel led her soldiers through their masses, working her way slowly toward the healing chambers. Her murdered soldiers were not the only dead. She saw it in the eyes of the sentries that guarded the doors, in the lines along the faces of advisors who rushed by, in the faces of healers and honor guards who solemnly went about the duty that always accompanied the ending of a terrible battle. Death had followed them home.

Perhaps the healing chambers had been the worst.

Constructed to be large enough for any battle, the healing chambers were now bursting at the seams. Beds were completely filled with elves moaning in pain, some mercifully sleeping or unconscious, oblivious to their own injuries and, perhaps more terribly, those of their fellow companions. The less severely injured sat against walls and laid on the floor, awaiting the welcoming presence of a healer and the absence of pain.

Erulastiel stood frozen as her company dispersed, making their slow way through the overrun chambers in pursuit of anything to alleviate their pains. She was in shock. Having left one battlefield, she felt that she had entered another.

A healer, rushing across the room, nearly knocked her over in his swift course. As he turned, most likely to chastise her for standing in the middle of the healing chambers and blocking his way, a flash of recognition and relief flashed briefly over his face. Erulastiel could see the lines of pain and exhaustion beneath his eyes, and before the healer could move again, Erulastiel embraced his clearly breaking body.

"Nestadon," she whispered. "Nestadon...I'm so sorry...I had no idea this would happen..."

Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and held her firmly at arm's length. She looked into Nestadon's eyes and, briefly, recognized the gaze Celeborn, of her father.

"My Lady," he responded, his voice commanding respect, "This was not your doing. These injured would fill these chambers soon; if not today, then tomorrow or the next day."

He paused and his face softened. Again the exhaustion entered his eyes. He released her shoulders before continuing.

"I realize I have no right to ask this of you, Lady Erulastiel," he began. "But we are in need of aid. My healers, they-"

"Yes. Where?" Erulastiel's question was straightforward; neither she nor Nestadon could spare time for pleasantries or discussion today.

When Thranduil finally found her, nearly a full day after her return to the palace, Erulastiel could barely force words past her lips. Her hands were coated in blood. She had given much herself, and was pale and weak with the exertion. She had begged him to let her stay, that the healers were in dire need of aid, that the wounded could not wait while she rested. But his strong arms and commanding voice led her from the chambers and into the hallway where, freed from responsibility for the first time in many nights, she collapsed onto the floor. She had heard Thranduil's voice, somewhere far away. It was a swirling storm, a trickle of honey, it was all things swirling in chaos and confusion but it was also the moon shattering the mirror, the sunlight upon her face, every dawn and every dusk there ever was, eternity. She buried herself against his chest.


	16. Numbered Days

Hello, all of my friends! I am terribly sorry about the long hiatus - life, you know, gets in the way of things. But lucky for you all, I'm back to update this story! Anyway, the past two chapters were pretty heavy, so here's the good news - nobody dies in this chapter, yay! Also, I really hope you all are in this for the long haul, because let's be real, slow burn is the most realistic and best of stories.

* * *

Contrary to Thranduil's command, Erulastiel returned to the healing chambers after the feast. And the day after that. And again and again, until the days ran together and she no longer cared for sleep or rest, but only for the injured. There were so many, she thought, so many, and she had condemned them all. The thrumming of her own guilt beat against her head. There was only one atonement. She rushed from Nestadon to his patients, giving care and comfort, blood and medicine, until all things were forgiven or avenged. And all the while, the darkness encroached, parried, stabbed at her weakening defenses, searching for a way in.

"My Lady," the mumbled words of her latest patient broke her from a reverie on the battle.

She looked down, truly seeing the elleth for the first time. Young, Erulastiel thought, young. She was so young but, thankfully, would survive the wound that bloodied strips of cloth around her forehead and bound back her dark hair. Beautiful, Erulastiel mused. She had commanded the king to send this beautiful young elleth off to war, had subjected her to untold horrors. She pushed these things aside.

"It is Erulastiel, _mellon_," she responded with a small smile, hoping to comfort the girl. "What is your name?"

The young elleth's eyes widened slightly, perhaps at the unexpected familiarity that passed between them. Erulastiel watched her swallow and clear her throat, but still, the battle-hardened voice escaped as a hoarse whisper. She leaned in closer, attempting to ease the elleth's discomfort.

"Harneth," she spoke, "Daughter of Ningannel."

Erulastiel had heard the name. She sat down on the small bed near Harneth's feet, wanting to put the elleth more at ease.

"The Lady Ningannel, the harpest?"

Her words were met with a smile. Clearly, the elleth had much pride in her lineage. As she should, Erulastiel mused, Ningannel was much-renowned for her skillful music-making, especially with the harp and lyre. Perhaps, she thought, she would honor the family with a visit, once the post-battle fray had calmed. It was most impressive that Ningannel had allowed her only daughter to fight for the realm. Erulastiel would have spoken further on it, if Harenth's eyes had not suddenly grown to the size of saucers.

"What is it?" Erulastiel asked frantically, hoping the girl had not taken a turn for the worse.

The girl nodded heavily at the doorway, far behind Erulastiel. She attempted to raise a hand and point, but Erulastiel held her still, reminding her that she needed to save her strength for the healing days ahead. At least, she thought, Harneth was not unwell. With small comfort in mind, she turned, still sitting, to face the door.

Her breath hitched. Thranduil, in all his kingly glory, stood at the door, arguing and gesturing angrily with a senior healer. She knew he would come. She had felt his presence growing amidst the darkness at her mind for days. Still, she had neither the strength nor the will to face him, and she quickly whipped back around, hoping her tangled hair would hide her face from the king.

Harneth eyed her curiously.

"He is your intended, is he not?" she asked, her voice creaking through her lips. Still, there was a fiery curiosity behind those tired eyes.

Erulastiel nodded.

"Yes," she whispered, "But I am in no state to receive him now. You understand, yes?"

Perhaps she should have noticed the young elleth tensing beneath the blankets, or the slight recoil that had overtaken the nagging curiosity behind her eyes. But Erulastiel, too, was exhausted, and only noticed when it was too late.

"No, little one, I do not believe she understands. And neither do I, for that matter."

The voice that rang out behind her was strong and clear, and held a thinly-veiled threat of overpowering anger. Erulastiel did not wish to turn, but those words had sent a shiver up her spine. She turned, but did not stand, and looked up into the face of King Thranduil.

"My King," she began, her voice wavering only slightly, "Have you come - "

A wave of his bejeweled hand stopped her short.

"My reasons are my own. One of them, however, does concern you. Up," he commanded, gently but firmly grabbing her hands and lifting her from Harneth's bed. "You will join me this evening. You are needed."

Erulastiel's eyes narrowed. She felt Harneth shrink behind her, intimidated by the elvenking. How dare he, Erulastiel thought, how dare he barge into this terrible place in all his finery, unconcerned for his healers and warriors, and demand she accompany him? Could he not see that her work was important?

His eyes scanned her face, and in his pursed lips, she saw a silent warning. _Do not fight me, not here._ She was never very good at following orders.

"I will not," she returned, crossing her arms and standing firmly alongside the bed. "I am needed here."

Thranduil sighed - somehow, she knew the elvenking had expected this. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her hair as he whispered in her ear, words only she could hear.

"Now is not the time for your stubbornness, little one. You are leaving this room with me, whether of your own accord or not."

She heaved a sigh in return, something to mirror his own anger, but still, knew there was nothing for it. Silently, she walked ahead of the elvenking, stalking away from Harneth's bed and toward the large door to the healing chambers. She did not look back, but knew the king followed. It was something strange about their relationship. She felt he carried the most authority - and true, Thranduil believed it too. His station, his wealth, the loyalty commanded by his status, even the position of his kingdom - all these things seemed to give him authority over her, too. But yet, her own power gave her some hold over him. Her gifts, her family, her own ability to connect with his people, she thought, these things gave her the confidence and authority to stride ahead of him, to make cases and battle plans and preparations, and even to lead his people alongside him.

Erulastiel was still musing on these things when she reached Thranduil's chambers. Knowing he would follow, and without looking back, she pushed open the doors and strode into the room.

The closing of the door told her the king had followed. She whipped around, tangled hair nearly catching his face in the process - she had no idea Thranduil stood directly behind her.

"What is it?" She had no time for his games.

He frowned slightly and clasped his hands behind his back, and began to pace the room. Angry, Erulastiel realized, he is either angry or upset - or perhaps somewhere in between. As the silence widened between them, Erulastiel made the decision to determine the source of his overpowering emotion on her own, and reached out to touch his mind with her own.

_Oh, _she realized at once. It was neither anger nor anxiety. It was _fear._

But that fear turned to rage when he recognized the intrusion. Hands became unclasped as he stalked her way, and she backed away until she found the wall. He stood slightly apart from her, breathing heavily, wringing his fingers in front of a silver robe. They eyed each other with mutual apprehension, she realized. There was some measure of equality here.

"What did I say regarding your gift?"

It was a question, but something that did not require an answer. It was resigned, a statement on the inadequacy of his commands when they came to her actions. He sighed and turned from her as she remained against the wall, running her hands along its cool surface, searching for some measure of security. Erulastiel broke the silence, again.

"What do you need, Thranduil?"

He looked at her out the corners of his eyes, his glance nearly an apology before the words dropped from his lips, things soaked in brine and coated in tempered steel as he attempted to detach himself.

"The month ends. We return to your lands for the marriage ceremonies."

His words rolled over her, waves somewhat like the sea that Erulastiel had never seen. She felt herself being dragged underneath. Somewhere, she remembered that the moon waned and the days walked steadily onward. But too soon, she thought, too soon, she was not prepared for this eternity. But Thranduil was watching her, gauging her reaction to his words, and she was a daughter of kings and queens.

She steadied herself, drew herself to her full height, and pushed lingering hairs from her eyes.

"I will make preparations," she said, damning herself for a wavering voice that betrayed the strength she attempted to show.

Thranduil took note. His slow steps her way were preceded by outstretched hands, hands meant to calm and to show no harm. Those hands came to rest alongside her chest on the flatness of the wall, and his eyes lingered upon hers, understanding the incredible feeling of loss pulsing through her veins, something that threatened to allow a pounding darkness to thrum upon her soul.

When he bent down to kiss her, it was something new - a comfort, not a battle for dominance. It was an apology, something her very soul saw mirrored in his own mind. And when his forehead rested against hers, she was granted access into his mind, a thing being tossed around like a ship at sea, threatening to collapse and burn its sailors in the depths. She felt his tears upon her cheek, knew the raw nature of his being.

And then she kissed him again.


	17. Return to the Homeland

Y'all better stock up on your fluff now, because there's some bad stuff coming. But it's the weekend, and I couldn't leave you hanging with something terrible.

* * *

They rode into Lothlorien a pair cloaked in starlight and impending doom.

Horses bathed in the dim glow of a dying twilight, cloaks billowing behind them with reckless abandon, and they, solid and true, sat bareback on their mounts. And greeted, they were, by near their mirror image, parents and leaders both of the great kingdom.

Erulastiel dismounted, never taking her eyes from her parents' forms as they slowly but surely walked down the shimmering staircase, eyes searching for the thing that had been their daughter. She could feel Thranduil tensing by her side. Almost instinctively, she reached out a wrapped hand to his own, intending only to brush against his fingers. She was surprised when he grasped it like a drowning man clings to whatever land he can find.

_He fears losing me_, she realized. The thought weighed heavily on her as she pondered their journey.

It had been swift and true. No fell beasts had hindered their movement as they sped through the forests of Mirkwood - indeed, Erulastiel mused, it was certainly still that, no matter how many times Thranduil hissed _Greenwood_. Perhaps, again, it could be, she thought with a glimmer of hope. And as they raced across the great plains to her mother's lands, hardly a word passed between them as they fought the dying daylight. She mused upon the meaning of these things.

"Daughter," Celeborn spoke, his word interrupting Erulastiel's thoughts. She looked and saw her father's arms opened, beckoning her into his embrace.

She paused only slight, then broke the connection between Thranduil's fingers and her own. She was still a daughter of Lothlorien, of kings and queens, after all. Her father's embrace was warm but halting, something fearful wormed its way into the supposed joyful reunion of daughter and parents. Something wicked comes this way, or has already arrived, Erulastiel thought with a jolt of fear. She drew back from her father, requesting silent access to his memories and thoughts.

There was no barrier that fought her as she delved into his mind. She felt anger, sadness, rage, and a burst of something familiar but, now, deeply personal - death. Erulastiel wrenched away, flinging herself too violently from the memories, and nearly fell down the silver stairs.

Nearly, that is. She was caught by a pair of strong arms draped in starlight. Thranduil looked down at her, his gaze cloaked in concern and flecked with anger. And those eyes, too, knew that something terrible had come to pass.

The Lady Galadriel broke the uneasy silence.

"Welcome, daughter," her voice rushed through, a cool stream of life-bringing water. "We have much to discuss. For now, rest, for your journey was arduous, and you are weary. Tomorrow, we will discuss the marriage celebrations."

Erulastiel nodded, knowing better than to disobey her mother. Still, the elvenking behind her knew no such caution, and stepped forward to challenge the great lady of Lothlorien.

"My Lady," he began, taking on an air of respect tinged with annoyance, "Clearly, something has come to pass, something evil and wicked. Do you not suppose this happening is of more importance than a simple marriage ceremony?"

To her utter surprise, Galadriel smiled down upon Thranduil.

"King Thranduil," she responded, sadly, "The marriage ceremony is now more important than ever. Rest. All things will reveal themselves when necessary."

When Thranduil opened his mouth to speak again, Erulastiel decided enough was enough. Placing a hand around his wrist, she tugged slightly at his looming frame. While he whipped around in indignation, the look in her eyes was enough to placate him, for now. Together, they bowed to Erulastiel's parents - Thranduil, admittedly, more shallowly than she would have liked - and departed for their chambers.

Overhead, night had finally taken over the dusk. Blackness lurked at every corner of the sky, leaving no room for lingering colors of the brilliant twilight. But through the blackness, points of light broke through, stars dancing, raised in battlement against the darkness of the night.

* * *

"Your royal parents are stubborn. It will be their downfall."

Thranduil busied himself searching her chambers for wine. If the gravity of their unknown situation had not weighed so heavily on her soul, Erulastiel might have found the situation amusing. Indeed, she remembered a time, nearly a month ago, when the elvenking sought wine in her chambers. Their interaction had ended - badly, she recalled. Perhaps something could change.

"I choose to ignore your statement. Indeed, have you examined your own hardness, Thranduil?" Her words were true, but she delivered them with a smile. "Are you looking for wine?"

"Yes."

His voice, too, was tinged with both concern for their situation and amusement at recollection of their past. Thranduil turned to look at her, realizing that they had been here not long ago. He slowly walked her way with step both playful and solemn, backing her against the bed. As she lost her balance and fell against the soft covers, the elvenking knelt down in front of her. He was still massive, she realized, but less intimidating now that something of equality had passed between them. He held her hands lightly in his own and met her eyes, completely open.

"What has changed, here?"

Erulastiel understood the question. Here, physically, in this space. Here, between us. Here, in the kingdom of Lothlorien. Here, here, here. Everywhere and everyone. What has changed, here?

She shrugged and tightened her grip on his hands.

"Everything."

He nodded a silent response, but did not move, did not allow her to break the gaze. Understanding passed between them. Although their marriage was one of duty, of necessity, there could be something more. They had both felt it, had felt the energy and light pass between them. It was nothing easy. It was not a dance underneath a sunrise. It was a battle against the dying twilight. It was an everyday struggle, a thing they would never fully realize, a depth of understanding between two souls.

But everything had changed. Perhaps, somehow, the thing between them could change, too.

And this time, they met in the middle. Their kiss was passionate, both a struggle for dominance and an acceptance of their new positions with each other. Thranduil stood, forcing Erulastiel to rise with him, and she felt his hands move against the small of her back as he gently laid her down upon the covers of the bed. And then he was atop her, moving against her, mirroring her hands' discovery of his body. They sought something bigger, something more, something beyond what had happened to them both.

But he broke away, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against her own.

"Everything," he whispered, his voice light and airy against her lips.

He laid a soft kiss upon her forehead and moved to lay beside her, gathering her frame against his own. They slept underneath the stars that fought the darkness. And there was the impending doom that cloaked their futures, true. But tonight, tonight was theirs, and perhaps they would create something that would draw the dawn.


End file.
